Tin Heart

by Shivaun Plozza

  When the song finishes, Zan cups her mouth and whoops so I do the same.

  ‘They’re amazing,’ I tell her, but she looks at me like ‘You haven’t seen anything yet’.

  I really like that. I like that there are even better things to come.

  I stop glancing over my shoulder.

  We dance for the rest of the set and then we dance to the songs they play over the speakers while the main act sets up and we dance until I’m slick with sweat and my ears are ringing.

  Going out is fun.

  I offer to buy Zan her next drink by miming and she nods. I’d forgotten about searching for Carmen while I was dancing but my eyes flick from face to face as I weave through the crowd, arms out in front for protection. Where is she? Why didn’t she come?

  I’m halfway to the bar when I spy Leo again, standing in the doorway to the beer garden, talking to the lead singer from the support act. He’s got his arms folded across his chest but he looks relaxed, comfortable, animated even. Then the singer reaches for a dark-haired girl walking past and pulls her in for an embrace. So Leo looks away.

  He looks . . . sad?

  I frown. I don’t get him. Why does he have to be . . . complex? He’s supposed to be a butcher, plain and simple. Killer of innocents. Maker of rude comments. He’s not supposed to be sad or smart or funny or infuriating. He’s supposed to be a two-dimensional side-character in my life, someone I can forget whenever he’s not around. He’s supposed to be Butcher Jerk. But that look is leading-man material.

  Because I am openly staring at him, I catch his eye. His shoulders pull back and for a second he frowns. Then he grins, lifting a hand in a wave and I spin around – too fast – and bump into the chest of a bearded man who I suspect is really a sack of bricks in a black muscle tee.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Watch it,’ he growls.

  I glance over my shoulder and – crappy crap. Leo is headed my way. There’s no way I can talk to him. He’ll make me say something stupid, then he’ll smile at me and it will be gorgeously crooked and I’m all sweaty and oh my god did he see me dance?

  I try pushing past brick guy but he’s not moving and there’s no way around. My face is so close to his chest I can see a spattering of moth holes and sweat patches in his t-shirt. I need to get out of here. I need–

  ‘Ray,’ says Leo from behind me. ‘Fancy running into you again. We have those singles to talk about.’

  I should turn around. He’s expecting me to turn around. I look up into the scowling, bearded face of brick guy.

  Help.

  ‘Well, he’s not talking to me,’ brick guy growls.

  ‘Hi, I’m Leo.’ Leo’s arm brushes past my side and he shakes brick guy’s hand.

  ‘Paul.’

  I stand there, back to Leo, completely unable to move. Like, actually stuck. Like, if there was a fire alarm and we had to evacuate it’d take five firemen to pick me up and carry me out of here.

  ‘You’re a friend of Ray’s?’ Leo asks over my head.

  ‘We just met.’

  ‘You move fast, Ray.’ Leo leans in. ‘No one ever tell you about stranger danger?’ he whisper-shouts into my ear.

  ‘What are you, my mum?’ I say and turn. Finally.

  Leo has cornered the market on ‘impish grin’. He could do a worldwide speaking tour on striking the balance between cute and arrogant. He could give interviews on getting the right amount of sparkle in your eye. He’s cute as hell.

  ‘I’m pretty sure there’s no one else in this entire world that I am less like than your mum,’ he says. ‘And I don’t think Paul likes you anymore. He thinks you’re mean.’

  What?

  I look over my shoulder and brick guy has turned away from us, squeezing through the crowd towards the bar. See, Leo? That’s how a two-dimensional side-character should act. Just fade-out with zero fanfare.

  ‘Keep me company, Ray. I’m bored. My friends are lame and you’re all on your lonesome so . . .’

  ‘I’m not actually,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not on my own.’

  He puts his hand to his ear. ‘But not here cos it’s too loud.’

  I want to say no, but the crowd pushes me forward. It seems to want me to go with Leo.

  ‘I’m supposed to be buying my friend a drink,’ I complain.

  ‘I told you. Paul’s not your friend.’

  I bite down a smile. ‘Not him. Zan.’

  ‘How many friends do you have, Ray?’

  ‘More than you.’

  He stops when we’re outside and the air is heady with smoke and the lingering heat of the day, but it’s still cooler than inside.

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ he says. His throat contracts as he swallows and there’s less sparkle in his eye. Maybe the light isn’t as bright out here.

  ‘I’m sure everybody wants to be friends with a guy who can score offal at short notice,’ I say and press a fist playfully to his arm.

  I really don’t know how or why I’m doing anything with Leo that could be described as ‘playful’ but here we are.

  ‘This is true,’ he says and locks his hand around my wrist, holding my fist there when I try to pull away. ‘Truce?’ he says.

  I nod and he releases my hand. I shove both hands behind my back so they’re not tempted to touch him again. It’s not that much cooler out here after all; my cheeks are on fire.

  Leo reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes.

  ‘That’s a really stupid habit,’ I tell him.

  He looks at the packet, thoughtful. ‘Yeah. I know. But my dad smokes. And it’s a good excuse.’

  ‘For what?’

  He shakes out a cigarette, places it between his lips but doesn’t light it. He keeps staring at the people around us and eventually he looks back at me, pulling the unlit cigarette out again. ‘To get out of the shop.’

  I don’t know what to say about that – mostly because I don’t understand it, but also because it’s really sad. And I don’t know what to do with a sad Leo.

  But then he turns and grins at me. ‘You are such a pain in my arse.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Did you draw it?’

  ‘Draw what?’

  ‘Wanted: Butcher Boy. Reward: keep him. No one else wants him. Ouch.’

  ‘Oh. You saw it?’

  ‘I ripped them down before Dad saw. I forgot my phone at the shop so I went back to get it. Dad is this close to calling the cops on you guys as it is.’ He leans closer, eyes narrowing. ‘Let me ask you this: bad hair? You think I have bad hair?’

  I hold a hand to my mouth, stifling a laugh.

  ‘Because this,’ he points to his hair, ‘takes me forever. And if no one’s been telling me it’s shit then I’ve been wasting my time and walking round looking like a complete dickhead.’

  My laugh bubbles through my fingers. ‘I’m sorry. It was mean.’

  He leans back, rolling the unlit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Well. It was good.’

  I watch his hands. For a second I can almost forget what he spends his days using them for. Almost. ‘Good?’

  ‘The drawing. You’re talented. Mean but talented.’

  I whack his arm, not too hard but he still acts like it hurt.

  ‘See? Mean,’ he says. ‘At least I’m not bored any more. Not even close.’

  He smiles at me, and I find myself smiling too. It takes me a while to work out we’re staring at each other.

  ‘Oh. Um.’ I quickly look away and see Zan headed towards us.

  He clears his throat and follows my gaze. ‘One of your many friends?’ he asks.

  ‘We’re not as close as Paul and me but she’s okay.’ His grin grows wide. Dimples!

  Get a grip, Marlowe.

  He looks down at the cigarette, still unlit, still wedged between this thumb and forefinger. He shoves it into his pocket. ‘I’ve just found out I’m walking around with shit hair so I need to leave,’ he says. ‘Anyway, I’ve g
ot to find my mate. As lame as he is, he’s my ride home.’

  ‘Okay, bye,’ I say. I sound disappointed. Why do I sound disappointed? He’s already looking around for someone else to charm.

  Leo nods. ‘Oh, and Ray?’ He steps towards me again, close enough for his lips to brush my ear and for the heat of his breath against my skin to send an involuntary shiver down my spine.

  ‘Truce over.’

  Luis Castillejo, you were a punk. You played drums in a band – The Punkultimates – and even though you didn’t know how to play very well the band didn’t care; they were terrible too. You spiked your hair, not in that year-seven-boy-just-discovering-hair-gel kind of way but in a cute, messy punk-boy way. Your front tooth was chipped from when you tried to impress a girl by jumping into your drum kit. You wore ripped black jeans, pointed black shoes, black t-shirt with holes and a black leather jacket that was two sizes too big. You were planning to grow into it.

  My dress sticks to me and I reek of sweat and smoke and spilt beer. But the band is amazing – the best crashing, humming, nerve-jangling noise ever – and dancing is amazing and being high on sugar is amazing and Zan is amazing and letting the crowd push me where it wants is amazing and . . .

  Crap.

  I yelp and grab Zan’s shoulder.

  Because Carmen.

  Carmen is here.

  Carmen is leaning over the pool table about to take a shot. Carmen is not taking the shot.

  Because Carmen has seen me.

  And Carmen is staring at me.

  My fingers dig hard into Zan’s shoulder and she slaps at my hand until I release her. ‘What is your deal?’

  My stomach lurches, a ship on the high seas. ‘She’s here.’

  Carmen straightens without taking the shot, squinting at me in that where-do-I-know-you-from way.

  ‘Isn’t that the point?’ says Zan.

  It was the point, yes. The whole damn point. But points are sharp and they hurt when you get caught on them and Carmen waves because she’s worked out who I am.

  Breathe. In.

  Now out.

  I pull Zan along with me as I approach Carmen. In my head I try chanting Mum’s positive affirmations but I end up just repeating: don’t be a weirdo, don’t be a weirdo, don’t be a weirdo.

  ‘Thought that was you.’ Carmen has to shout because even though Kill the Club have finished their set the music is still ear-splitting, blasting from the speakers.

  ‘Zan’s a big fan of the band.’ I push Zan in front of me, angling her like a shield.

  ‘You have good taste,’ Carmen says.

  She introduces us to her friends – I forget their names the second she says them. Except for Kari. I remember her and she remembers me. If Zan has a cat’s stare, Kari has a lion’s stare. A lion that just had its tail trod on.

  Her nails are the same toffee-apple red as her hair; against the gold-brown of her skin the colour is amazing. She’s wearing black cigarette trousers, a white shirt and a thin black tie.

  ‘You again,’ Kari says. The ‘Are you stalking us?’ vibe radiates from her like stink lines drawn in the air.

  I shrug to hide how that makes me feel. ‘Me again.’

  I expect her to turn and give me the literal cold shoulder, but her eyes are drawn to my right, to where Zan has gravitated to stand beside me, and suddenly Kari looks . . . less of a mega-cow?

  ‘Hi,’ says Zan, offering Kari her hand. ‘I’m Zan.’

  ‘Karisma but everyone calls me Kari.’ Her shoulders relax and she smiles, small at first but growing. Fast. Zan smiles too. And now I know why she smiles so rarely. It’s a weapon of mass destruction.

  Thankfully, Carmen doesn’t seem phased by how much her best friend clearly hates me. She asks if we want to play. ‘Kari’s a total pool shark,’ she shouts into my ear. ‘Don’t let her hustle you.’

  I nod, even though I have zero idea how to play or what a pool shark is or why it would hustle me. It ends up being Carmen and me against Zan and Kari. I quickly learn that Zan is crazy good at pool. Kari too. I guess that explains ‘pool shark’.

  ‘They’re way out of our league, Ray,’ says Carmen, as Zan knocks another ball into the pocket. We sit on a bench seat and watch Zan and Kari kick our butts while simultaneously flirting up a storm. There is. So. Much. Smiling.

  Carmen nudges me. ‘It appears my friend has taken a shine to your friend.’

  I watch Zan try to hide how smug she’s feeling when she pockets yet another ball in front of a suitably impressed Kari. It’s beyond cute.

  ‘She’s not stepping on your toes, is she?’ Carmen asks.

  ‘What? Me and Zan?’ I shake my head. ‘Firstly, there’s no way Zan would go for me. Too much of a dork. And besides, I have this terrible habit of liking boys.’

  ‘Ugh,’ she says. ‘Me too. Isn’t it the worst?’

  I nod. Furiously. I only just stop myself short of searching for Leo in the crowd.

  I chalk up my cue like Carmen showed me, even though it’s going to be a while before I get another shot – Zan is on a roll.

  I should be asking Carmen about Luis but I can’t remember any of the ways I’d planned to slip it into conversation. So I give in and check the crowd for Leo.

  Maybe he left after the band.

  Good. I don’t actually want to see him. He’s Butcher Jerk, after all.

  ‘Lost something?’ Carmen drains the last of her beer.

  I shake my head. ‘I mean, yeah. I’ve lost something, but I’m hoping it stays lost.’

  She pauses, glass still pressed to her lips, and looks at me for three excruciating seconds. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about but I think it might be terribly profound.’

  ‘Really?’

  She shrugs. ‘Or I could be drunk.’ She smiles at me. ‘Hey. I should get your number. Can’t exactly rely on fate to bring us together for a fourth time, right?’

  Fate. Yeah.

  She hands me her phone and I enter my number with jittery fingers. I tell myself this isn’t a big deal but . . . who am I kidding? This deal is so big you could see it from space.

  ‘Cool,’ she says when I hand back her phone with a new entry under ‘Ray’.

  I suck in a deep breath. Cool.

  Kari moves round the top of the pool table and leans over Carmen. ‘Zan’s got a good idea for next week – karaoke and sake.’

  ‘You can only sing songs that start with “K”,’ shouts Zan and pockets another ball. She grins at Kari. It just about blinds me.

  ‘Kari’s planning her birthday party,’ says Carmen to me.

  ‘She’s refusing to hire a magician. Big mistake. What’s a party without balloon animals?’

  ‘You think she’s joking,’ says Kari. ‘She’s not.’ She looks at me with ever so slightly less distaste. The fact that I’m Zan’s friend is working for me.

  Carmen lets her head roll back and looks dreamy. ‘Marvin the Magnificent. He made me a flamingo.’ She floats her arms above her head, wriggling her fingers through the air. ‘And Luis got a monkey.’

  My heart does that weird jumpy thing in my chest when I hear his name. Calm down, I tell my heart. He might not be my donor.

  ‘You could get a palm reader,’ says Zan. She takes a shot. Sinks the ball. Again. ‘My aunt will cut you a deal.’

  ‘Slushy machine?’ says Kari.

  ‘Paintball?’ says Zan.

  ‘Party theme: “Tequila Mockingbird”?’

  ‘Everyone comes dressed as MC Hammer?’

  ‘Jumping castle? Nude jumpers only.’ They laugh.

  ‘Balloon animals,’ says Carmen. ‘And that’s final.’

  This is what it feels like to start watching a movie halfway through – confusing. But confusing in a way that makes you long for what you’ve missed.

  Carmen rolls her head to the side, smiling at me.

  ‘What animal would you want, Ray?’ she asks.

  ‘I’d be happy with a monkey.’ I don’t say it ju
st to be like Luis. I mean it. ‘I’ve got this friend, Hannah, and it’s what she’s always called me. Because I’m small and I’ve got these round cheeks.’

  ‘And you like bananas?’ Carmen bumps into my shoulder.

  ‘And you pick fleas off people and eat them,’ says Zan.

  ‘And you throw poop,’ says Kari.

  Carmen screws up her nose as she laughs.

  ‘If you want a balloon guy, get him for the twenty-fourth,’ says Kari.

  Carmen’s laugh turns off like a switch has been flipped. The mood gets icy real quick.

  ‘Don’t even,’ she growls.

  ‘Come on,’ says Kari. She hasn’t read the change in her friend; she’s chalking up her cue and eyeing off her next shot. ‘It would be a great way to honour him. Something fun and light – I said it doesn’t have to be sad. We can celebrate him. And we’ll head to Fawkner after with flowers and –’

  Carmen rubs her hands down her face, her features skewing. ‘Give it a rest, Kari,’ she snaps. But Kari keeps pushing.

  ‘I know you don’t want to talk about this but –’

  ‘Then why are you talking about it?’ Carmen rocks forward. ‘For fuck’s sake, Kari. Quit trying to control everything.’ Kari looks dazed, like she’d been sleepwalking and someone shook her awake. ‘I’m not trying to –’

  ‘You are. You always do.’ Carmen grabs the pool cue out of my hand and shoves it into the racks. ‘Come on, Ray. Let’s dance. I’m sick of pool.’

  I look over my shoulder as Carmen leads me away. Kari has a hand to her throat.

  I think I’m feeling the same tight, raw feeling in my throat as Kari. We both know why Carmen is angry.

  Instead of leading us to the dance floor, Carmen heads into the beer garden.

  ‘I’m so bored,’ says Carmen and flops onto the low brick wall surrounding a garden bed. ‘Say something funny.’

  I am the least funny person in the world. I look around – where’s Leo when you need him? He knows how to coax a smile out of a girl.

  ‘There was a boy here,’ I say. ‘He dumped offal in the backyard of my mum’s shop, but I flirted with him and I don’t know how I could have because I saw sheep testicles because of him. I can never un-see that. And if sheep’s testicles aren’t a mood killer I don’t know what is.’