The Sound

by Sarah Alderson

  I order a Coke and then turn back to Jesse who is now man-hugging another guy about our age. He’s got shaggy brown hair, streaked with blond, and a peeling nose. Jesse introduces me. His name is Austin.

  ‘When’s the band playing?’ he asks Jesse after shaking my hand.

  At nine,’ Jesse answers.

  ‘Hey, Jesse.’ A tall girl with long auburn hair throws her arms around his neck. He hugs her back enthusiastically and keeps his arm around her waist when she pulls away. ‘Tara, this is Ren,’ Jesse says.

  I drag my eyes off his hand, pressed casually to her hip.

  ‘I saw you the other night,’ the girl says to me. If I’m not mistaken that’s a bitch face she’s throwing at me. And I don’t think I am mistaken because I’m getting pro at recognising them thanks to Eliza and her friends. I frown. What is it with the girls on this island?

  ‘At the Reeds’, she adds, one hand on her jutting hip.

  I still stare blankly. She looks kind of familiar but I don’t think she’s one of Eliza’s friends – I mean, she wouldn’t be here draping herself on Jesse if she was friends with them, would she?

  ‘I was waitressing,’ the girl says.

  Oh yeah. Now I remember her. She was one of the girls handing out the champagne and canapés. My gaze slips again to Jesse’s hand which is still glued to her hip.

  ‘You’re friends with them?’ the girl demands. ‘With the Reeds?’

  I glance at Jesse who is studying me carefully. ‘Um. I’m nannying for the Tripps for the summer,’ I say.

  Austin suddenly butts in, turning to Tara. ‘You were waitressing there?’ he shouts. ‘For the Reeds?’

  Tara turns to him, rolling her eyes. ‘I need the money, Austin.’

  Jesse’s arm drops away from her waist. He holds up both his hands. ‘It’s cool.’

  Austin rolls his shoulders. ‘It’s not cool,’ he says, glaring at Tara.

  I’m starting to get really confused by who’s with who here. I thought that Jesse was with Tara – but now, from the way Tara and Austin are glaring at each other, I’m starting to wonder if they might be together.

  ‘Do you want a game of pool before the band starts?’ Jesse asks, clearly wanting to cut the conversation short. Tara and Austin deathstare each other for another second and then Tara tosses her head and nods.

  ‘You play?’ Austin asks me.

  I nod.

  ‘Awesome. OK, we’re a four.’

  We move to the pool table that has just been vacated.

  Jesse racks up the balls and I watch him stretching lean and incredibly sexily across the table. OK, I also for a split second imagine that I am lying beneath him across the baize before I come to my senses. Jesse straightens up, tosses the cue to Austin, chalks up another cue and hands it to me.

  ‘Boys v girls?’

  ‘Sure.’ I glance at Tara.

  ‘Let’s take these losers,’ she says, grinning slyly at me.

  Austin breaks. Tara squeezes his butt as he does and the balls go ricocheting blindly off the edges. He turns around and slaps her hand away and she kisses him on the mouth. Well that clears that one up, I guess. She’s not with Jesse. And I am in no way relieved about that. Whatsoever.

  Jesse is standing beside me, his hands resting on top of the cue. ‘So you’re a nanny?’ he asks as Austin lines up his next shot. He misses.

  ‘Yep,’ I say.

  Jesse clears his throat. ‘I thought . . .’

  I turn to him. ‘I know what you thought,’ I say and then I bend and line up my shot. I feel Jesse take a step backwards and wonder whether he’s appraising my pool skills or my butt.

  I pot the red and stand up flexing my shoulders. Tara high-fives me.

  ‘Nice,’ Jesse says.

  I glance at him but it’s impossible to tell whether he’s talking about my pool skills or my butt.

  I’m bent over the table, lining up my next shot, when a girl comes prancing over in the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen – shorter than anything that Megan would ever wear – and a lace bra for a top. She has blonde hair cut in a sharp bob. If Noelle Reed were here she would call this girl a skanktron.

  ‘Jesse!’ the girl yells. It’s clear she is off her head drunk. A total mess. ‘Who’s she?’ she asks pointing at me and slurring.

  Jesse skirts around her, studying the shot I’m lining up. ‘You mean Ren?’ he asks without looking at her.

  ‘Yeah.’ The girl squidges her nose at me. ‘Is she your date?’

  Jesse laughs. ‘No.’

  My cheeks flame. My throat tightens. My shot goes wild and I pot the white. I stare at the baize as though I can burn a hole right through it. Did he have to laugh?I straighten up trying to arrange my features into an expression that screams indifference and not outrage.

  ‘Oh,’ the girl hiccups, still considering me. ‘I need a pee,’ she suddenly announces as though she’s only just discovered her bladder, then lowering her lashes and her voice she whispers, ‘Come find me later, Jesse.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ Jesse answers, already lining up his shot, his eyes on the table.

  Tara is laughing at the girl as she weaves her way unsteadily through the crowd.

  ‘You are never going to live that one down, Jesse,’ Tara remarks.

  I stare at Jesse confused. And then my eyes track to the blonde drunk girl. Is there anyone on this whole entire island who hasn’t pulled every other person on this island?

  At that point a boy comes rushing over and grabs Jesse and I think to myself, no, there isn’t.

  ‘Jesse – we need you, buddy,’ the guy says.

  Jesse turns to face him. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Riley can’t play. He’s hurt his hand. Pulled a muscle.’

  ‘I’m not even going to ask how he did that.’

  ‘Can you cover for him?’ the guy begs.

  Jesse shakes his head. ‘No way, man.’

  ‘Please, I’m begging you . . .’

  He really is. He’s holding on to Jesse’s arm with both his hands, a pleading expression on his face as though Jesse has the power of life or death over everyone in the bar. He jerks his head at the room, which is now so packed that we can’t see the stage. ‘Look at the crowd,’ the boy says, his eyes starting to bug out.

  ‘Do it, bro.’

  It’s Austin talking. Jesse glares at him. He’s holding his cue like a weapon.

  ‘Cover for what?’ I ask, glancing between them.

  Austin tips his head in Jesse’s direction, grinning. ‘Jesse here plays guitar. He used to be in the band before—’

  Jesse cuts him off. ‘OK,’ he says, ‘but this is the last time.’

  The boy who was pleading with him lets go of his arm, relief rushing across his face. ‘That’s all I’m asking. Come on, please, man . . . Niki’s waiting. We’re ready to go.’

  Jesse tosses the cue to Austin, who catches it. He shrugs at me, which I take as an apology of sorts, though I’m not sure for what, and then he follows after the guy who’s squeezing his way through the crowd towards the stage. Austin slaps Jesse on the back as he passes. ‘Good luck, bro.’

  I stand there in shock. ‘What was that all about?’ I ask, turning to Austin and Tara. ‘Jesse’s playing with the band?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s awesome,’ Tara says, her eyes already fixed on the stage. The pool game is forgotten as we pile our cues on the table and head to the front.

  ‘Jesse used to play all the time back in school,’ Austin shouts over the noise of the crowd.

  ‘He had all these freshman groupies,’ Tara adds.

  ‘Man was he getting some—’

  Tara whacks him on the arm. ‘Austin!’

  I watch the stage. The guy who just came over and pleaded with Jesse now walks up to the mike on the left and picks up his bass guitar, which was propped against a speaker. Another guy with long dark hair that flops over most of his face takes up residence behind the drums. And then a girl in a little dress with messy blond
e hair and heavy eyeliner follows him onstage to a chorus of catcalls from the audience. She takes the microphone in the middle, bends close to it and whispers, ‘Hi,’ in just about the sultriest, smokiest voice I’ve ever heard.

  More whoops drown out the rest of what she says. My eyes track to Jesse who has walked onto the stage in their wake and is now fiddling with the guitar that he’s slung over his shoulder. His head is bent and he’s biting his lip – a sign I’m starting to recognise as meaning that he’s thinking. Then he looks up and scans the audience, like he’s looking for someone. His eyes find mine and I get a shot of adrenaline straight into my bloodstream. He smiles at me and then his eyes fall back to the guitar and he starts to finger the strings, tilting his head as he tunes. The adrenaline takes a while to dissipate from my body.

  Meanwhile the girl, who I assume is the singer because she doesn’t have an instrument, waits until she gets nods from Jesse and on three they launch into their first song.

  And they’re good. She’s really good. Her voice is raw and melancholy and then it’s soft and soothing as silk and I’m entirely wrapped up in the song. I almost don’t notice Jesse because I’m so amazed by the voice on this girl. But then I turn my head towards him and suddenly it’s all about him. He’s playing so intensely, with every fibre of his being poured into his hands, and through his fingers, that I can feel the music he’s making running through my body like an electric current. He’s frowning as he plays, and smiling at the same time, alive with the music.

  I want to be the guitar.

  The thought embeds itself into my brain. And now I’m imagining his hand wrapped around me the way his hand is wrapped around the neck of the guitar, his fingers dancing the naked length of me. I try to push the thought away but it is settled in, it’s shrapnel and refuses to be pried free. My whole body is now pulsing with heat, though I try to tell myself it’s just the crush from the crowd.

  I try to stare at the singer instead, but Jesse’s all I can see, out of the corner of my eye. I back away from the others, pushing my way through the heaving crowd towards the door where the air is slightly cooler. Just as I make it to the bar a second voice joins the girl’s for the chorus on this song and I don’t need to even turn my head to know that it’s Jesse singing, because the effect his voice has on me is the same one I experience when he walks towards me. It makes me breathless and my head feel like it’s going to spin off.

  I ask for a glass of water and then go and sit at an abandoned table covered with dirty glasses.

  After about the sixth song the band take a break and I decide, for a number of reasons that I refuse to decipher right now but which involve not having my inhaler to hand, that I have to leave. I stand up and head to the door, but just as I get there Jesse darts in front of me and blocks my way.

  ‘You’re leaving?’ he asks, frowning. ‘Why? Don’t you like the music?’

  His brow is gleaming with sweat, his hair thick with it. His T-shirt is sticking to his chest. I force my eyes to his face. ‘No,’ I stammer, ‘I liked the music. It was great. You were – you’re really good.’ Why is it so hard to look him in the eye?

  ‘I’m out of practice,’ he says.

  ‘No. You sounded good.’

  He winces and scans the room. A few people pass by and pat him on the shoulder. He greets them and turns back to me.

  ‘You know, I wouldn’t have invited you if I knew I was going to be playing.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  He shrugs and looks like he might be about to answer when a guy comes and taps him on the shoulder. ‘Ready?’

  Jesse turns to me. ‘I have to go. Will you still be here when we’re finished?’

  It’s the perfect opportunity to make my excuses and leave but instead I find myself nodding.

  ‘Cool. I’ll come find you after.’

  18

  I stay seated at the table. OK, so this is the deal, I say to myself:

  a. You pulled Jeremy and you like Jeremy. Jeremy is good-looking and he’s nice and he likes your thighs and he’s a pretty good kisser.

  b. Jesse is a player. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the idea of dating you. Also – VIOLENT. Did you forget that part?

  Why am I even having this conversation with myself? I sigh. I am having this conversation because I can hear Jesse’s voice in the background and it’s as if someone’s pouring warm honey over my naked skin.

  I want to bang my head against the tabletop.

  I refuse to be a cliché. I refuse, point blank, to fall for the hot, moody guy with anger issues. Is my name Bella Swann? Am I the protagonist of every paranormal romance lining the shelves of Waterstones? No. I am not.

  Also, unlike Edward Cullen, the voice in my head pipes up, Jesse most certainly hasn’t fallen in insta-love with me and isn’t torturing himself over the fact that he can’t be with me in case he eats me.

  On that pragmatic note, feeling proud of my ability to impose reason over my mutinous body, I stand up for the last two songs and make my way towards the stage, to where Tara and Austin are dancing in a sweaty tangle of limbs. I even join in because, at the end of the day, the music is awesome, and it feels good to let loose. And Tara and Austin are laughing and they put their arms around me and I feel a tiny bit of how I feel when I’m out with Megan.

  It’s well after midnight before the singer grabs the mike and growl-purrs ‘Goodnight!’ in that husky voice of hers which I know undoubtedly is going to launch this band into the stratosphere.

  Everyone cheers and claps and whoops and Tara has her arm looped around my neck. I stare up at the stage at Jesse whose face is alight. He’s grinning as he pulls the guitar strap over his head. His T-shirt hikes up as he does so and I catch an eyeful of his ridiculously defined stomach muscles.

  ‘What do you think?’ Tara yells in my ear.

  ‘Amazing,’ I shout back.

  ‘It’s such a shame,’ she says with a sigh and for a moment I think she’s talking about the fact that Jesse has pulled his T-shirt down and killed the view but then I realise she is not.

  ‘What is?’ I ask, dragging my eyes off Jesse and onto Tara, but Austin has pulled her into his arms and she doesn’t hear the question. Then Jesse appears beside me.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, pushing a hand through his damp hair.

  ‘Hey,’ I answer. I am not Bella Swann, I repeat in my head.

  ‘What did you think?’ he asks, and I can tell that he’s anxious, despite trying to act like he isn’t, because he isn’t smiling anymore.

  I contemplate playing with him but decide in the end I can’t. ‘It was good,’ I say and I can’t stop myself from grinning. I cannot wait to write a blog post about them.

  He cracks a half-smile.

  ‘Hey, Jesse!’

  I glance up. It’s the lead singer – the girl with the messy blonde hair, panda eyes and exquisite voice. She’s leaning down from the stage. It would be true to say that I’m a little intimidated. Up close she’s flawless – porcelain skin, perfect lips, did I mention the come to bed and ravish me (I am so not a virgin) voice? She doesn’t even acknowledge me. I am one of the little (virgin) people.

  ‘You coming?’ she asks Jesse.

  He turns back to me. ‘There’s an after-party, want to come?’

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘I am so in – where’s it happening?’ Austin shouts across the now half-empty bar.

  ‘Nobadeer,’ the girl answers. ‘See you there. Jesse?’

  He smiles at her. ‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ he says, before turning back to me. ‘You wanna come?’ he asks. ‘It’s a beach.’

  I hesitate. A part of me really wants to go but the sensible part of me is saying, no, go home, go to bed with your inhaler, forget about Jesse Miller.

  ‘No,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I have to get back. It’s late.’

  He nods almost as if he hasn’t heard. ‘Cool,’ he says, but he’s already turning away, his eyes fixed on the girl who’s walking out of t
he stage door. ‘Catch you later then,’ he says, and runs off to catch up with her.

  19

  The car is not where I parked it. Or rather it is exactly where I parked it but now two other cars – a jeep and a BMW – have blocked me in. I walk back and forth, studying the millimetre gap at the front and back.

  Shit.

  The whole car park is now empty apart from these two cars blocking me in as though they’ve done it on purpose. I look around, expecting to see the owners hiding behind a bush and laughing, but it’s silent as the grave out here. I shiver, scanning the lot. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end. I feel like I’m being watched.

  Quickly I open the car door and get in. I stick the car in reverse and inch backwards until I hit the bumper of the car behind.

  Shit.

  I put it in drive and turn the wheel frantically and then ease off the brake. I do this about twenty times until I’m sweating like a pig and the car is stuck at an acute angle, wedged, with the bumper against the car in front’s bumper.

  ‘Shit,’ I say out loud this time. I throw open the car door and storm out. I bend and inspect the damage. There doesn’t appear to be any. But it is dark.

  ‘That’s some impressive wheel spin you’ve got going there,’

  I jump around.

  Jesse is leaning against a lamp post. He has one hand resting on the saddle of a road bike.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

  ‘Watching you try to get out of that parking space.’

  ‘Don’t you have anything better to be doing with your time?’ I ask, still smarting over the way he ran off with just the briefest of goodbyes.

  ‘Nope,’ he says. ‘This is far more entertaining.’

  ‘Well I’m glad to be of service in amusing you.’ I can feel the muscles in my arms and shoulders tensing as my hands coil into fists. How am I going to get out of this with him standing there watching me? I stand with my back to him and stare at the disastrous and seemingly impossible angle that the car’s wheels are now turned at.

  Just then I am momentarily distracted by movement, out of the corner of my eye. I glance towards the dumpsters. Probably just an animal, I think to myself.