Mine

by S. A Partridge

Damn it, Kayla. I type my reply:

  Why is it important? So you can feel bad about yourself some more? So that you have an excuse to never talk to me again?

  Just tell me.

  Stupidly, I tell her.

  She doesn’t reply.

  Kayla

  RONDEBOSCH, FRIDAY

  I didn’t sleep last night. It’s one thing knowing what people are thinking. It’s another knowing what they’re saying. Why did he tell me?

  It doesn’t matter. It’s better to know. It’s all true, anyway – I can’t even deny it. I’ve refreshed Facebook about a hundred times already but he hasn’t messaged me again, and I don’t dare message him. I still don’t really believe he’s for real. There is no such thing as romance anymore – guys just want one thing.

  Still, I studied Lucinda and the other princesses all morning but there was no sign that they’re plotting something behind my back. They’re not exactly Oscar material, so it’s easy to tell when they’re up to something. And the smirking has stopped – I guess the Sebastian episode is old news now. I’ve gone back to being invisible, and Lucinda is indifferent to my presence.

  But it’s hard not to look at Julia and worry. She’s so beautiful, with her perfect, silky hair and perfect everything else. I spotted her at breaktime, sitting on a bench with her friends – straight-backed and dignified, like a real-life princess. Guys trip over their own feet from staring. It doesn’t seem plausible for Fin to overlook someone so lovely in favour of me. If this was Justice League Dark, she’d be Zatanna and I’d be Nightmare Nurse or even Swamp Thing. It doesn’t make sense.

  The fact remains: Hot guys don’t just appear out the blue and talk to you. Life doesn’t work like that.

  He’s obviously playing me. Just like Sebastian did.

  When I get home after school, I dump my blazer and fetch an Eskimo Pie from the freezer. I steal so much stock from the ice-cream shop it’s a wonder they still let me work there. I take another one because one is never enough and return to my room and click play on the iPod. Soon, the Hungarian opera Bluebeard’s Castle is thundering out of the speakers.

  I love Bartók. I love how constricting and dripping with evil his concertos are. If only the other Music nerds knew I was a Music nerd too. But I bet the music doesn’t do the same thing to them as it does to me. Oh, I love the cello …

  Screw Sebastian. He doesn’t own the instrument.

  I sink onto my bed with a sigh. Nothing makes me feel as much emotion as classical music does. The strings soar and I close my eyes, feeling the power of the piece. I love all music – okay, maybe not One Direction (I like to think I have some taste) – but classical is the best. I hate thinking about the future, but if I do survive to see adulthood, I would kill to be in an orchestra.

  I pick up my phone and check the messages again. I hate not knowing what’s going on. I frown. Maybe it’s not a trap. But if he’s playing me, I’ll just play him right back.

  I type.

  Okay. So since you know all about me, why do you still want to talk to me?

  I click send and instantly regret it. Technically he’s not still talking to me. He hasn’t messaged me again since I ignored his last message. I groan and roll onto my stomach, just as Bluebeard tells Judith in Hungarian that he’ll give her one more key.

  You don’t want to do that, Judith. You don’t want to know what’s behind that door …

  A tiny number “1” appears next to the Messenger tab. I yelp and open it, shaking my phone because it’s taking so long to load.

  Because I don’t care. I’m just as broken as you are.

  I wasn’t expecting that. If he’s trying to flirt with me, he’s going about it all wrong. I prop my head on my open hand and type with the other.

  What about you is broken exactly?

  Everything. All the nice things in my life get taken away.

  I look up at the ceiling to see if there are any hidden cameras, then scramble to my drawer, but my diary is still safely inside. Either this is one hell of a conspiracy or he can read my mind.

  Well, at least you had some nice things to begin with.

  Wow, I sound emo.

  You must think I’m crazy to confess all this to a girl I don’t even know.

  A little, yeah. So what makes you think I’m so broken? Because I hook up with guys sometimes? Newsflash: everyone does.

  No. It’s not that. It’s because every time I see you, you look so sad.

  How do you know I’m not just having a bad day?

  I don’t.

  Okay. Random answer. And very presumptuous.

  In the opera, Judith just found the sea of tears. It’s only a matter of time now. My cheeks sting. Opera has such an effect on me. It gets me right in the feels.

  I’m not saying that I believe you’re not up to something BTW. But, I’ll listen to what you have to say and decide for myself. It’s just really hard to believe that you want to talk to me when you probably have tonnes of girls throwing themselves at you.

  True dat.

  What? I can’t believe he just said that. I feel a jolt of uncertainty.

  Ego much?

  Haha. Not really. Brendan pulls most of the chicks. I just write the lyrics. I’m the sensitive one.

  Chicks? You do know the difference between the females of your own species and livestock, right?

  I really wish my heart would stop getting so excited. I always do this – become hopeful for nothing. I found one of Dark Father’s music videos on YouTube. Fin is cute; all dark and intense. And his voice!

  Lorenda opens the door and knocks loudly for my attention. I look at her and mouth the word: “What?”

  “Craig’s on the phone!” she shouts. I can just hear her over the music.

  “I’m not home,” I reply, turning back to my phone.

  He’s replied.

  Do you want to grab a coffee sometime? I won’t bite.

  I hesitate before typing.

  Why me and not “Jules”? She’s gorgeous.

  You’re more gorgeous.

  Stop it. I’m serious.

  So am I.

  I’ll think about it.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, FRIDAY

  She said no.

  I was expecting it to be easier than that, but it’s okay. I’ve got game.

  Do you want to chat on WhatsApp rather? It’s easier.

  You don’t give up, do you?

  Not on people I feel like I have a genuine connection with, no.

  She types in her number and I immediately send a selfie with my goofiest smile.

  LOL. What are you doing?

  Making an idiot of myself to see you smile. Will you send me a picture of yourself? Please.

  I’m not wearing any make-up.

  Neither am I.

  She sends me a picture of her face half hidden by blue hair. Her beanie is pulled all the way down so it nearly covers her eyes. But there’s a hint of smile there. And it’s a stunner.

  Now send me one where I can actually see your face.

  Why?

  Because you’re lovely to look at.

  When she doesn’t reply I start to wonder if I’ve overdone it with the compliments. I wait, and go as far as switching Airplane Mode on and off to refresh the app.

  After ten minutes of chewing on my knuckles, she responds with a selfie.

  The girl actually went to put on make-up.

  CANAL WALK, SATURDAY

  Kayla’s sitting inside the coffee shop with her blue hair peeking out underneath the same black beanie from her profile picture. She’s wearing a pair of oversized nerd glasses that make her look like every other scene girl in this town. Except she’s not like those girls. Her jeans are frayed and her fingerless gloves look homemade. She’s more of a skater girl. Do I even have a type? If I do, it’s definitely her.

  I take a step back from the window and breathe deeply. I have to wipe a hand over my mouth because my top lip’s sweating and the sweat
is sticking to my stubble in beads. Why am I so nervous? I mean, I’ve been chasing this girl day and night to get her to meet me. This is what I want, and here I am sweating under my clothes.

  I take another long breath and force myself to go inside.

  Her eyes widen when she sees me and she starts chewing on the inside of her cheek, which makes me all kinds of fuzzy inside. I slip into the seat opposite her and pull my cap off my head and attempt to smooth back my hair. At least I remembered to wash it this time.

  She starts laughing at me. “Come on. You are so not nervous. Drop the act.”

  I grin and squeeze my cap between my hands. My mouth has gone dry. “Give me a break. You’re gorgeous.”

  As soon as I’ve coughed out the words I look at my hands. My fingers won’t stay still. When she doesn’t say anything, I look up.

  She’s glowering.

  “Sorry, Kayla. I didn’t mean to sound so forward. Never mind. I’ll start again. Hello.”

  Her glare slowly morphs into a teeny-tiny smile. “People don’t compliment me a lot,” she says in almost a whisper.

  Guys can be such tools. “I’m sorry. They should.”

  I can’t look at her for more than a minute before I have to turn away. I suck on my bottom lip and clap my hands together. Where is the waiter? People talk around us. Cups clang. The noise makes me edgy.

  When I swing my gaze back to her, her eyes bore holes into mine.

  “How can you still be in school? You’re like, what, nineteen?”

  I look up from my broken fingernails. “Eighteen. I repeated a year.”

  “Oh. Okay. That must suck.”

  I nod. “It does. I would be working already but, you know, matric? I’ll be screwed without it.”

  “I work in an ice-cream shop. But it’s the crap kind.”

  I burst out laughing and go back to sucking in my lip. I can’t stop fidgeting. Plus her silence gets to me – it’s worse than the noise. Louder somehow. The waiter eventually arrives and I order a milkshake. So does Kayla.

  “So, this wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean, look, no girls waiting in disguise to pounce on us.”

  “I haven’t checked the back tables yet,” she says.

  “Don’t worry. There aren’t any. Girls, I mean. Not tables.” I smile. Have I even stopped smiling since I got here? “There are tables. Obviously.”

  Silence descends. We look in opposite directions. She pulls at a loose strand on her glove.

  “I wish you would give me as much attention as that piece of cotton,” I say.

  She looks up in shock. “I’m sorry.”

  Stupid. Stupid. “No, forget it. It was a dumb thing to say. I say crazy things. I’m just crazy. Full stop.”

  Shut up, Fin.

  She grins. “I’m pretty crazy myself. I talk to myself through the medium of sock puppets.”

  “What? Really?”

  “No.” She looks up and thanks our waiter as our milkshakes arrive. I’m still staring at her with my mouth hanging open. She takes a long, considered sip.

  “You’re breathtaking,” I say. It’s easy to say things like this to impress girls, but it surprises me how much I really mean it.

  “You say that now,” she says, without looking up, “but you don’t really know me.”

  “You shouldn’t put yourself down like that. Soon you’ll start believing your own lies.”

  She gives me an odd look.

  LATER, WE WALK along the nature trail circling the canal because there really isn’t anywhere else to go in Century City, and Ratanga Junction is closed. You can’t even see the sky properly because of all the buildings and hotels. The sun chose this day of all days to shine. It’s too bright. I feel like all my cracks are showing.

  We stand on a bridge and look down into the murky water. Her hair dances around her shoulders. I could never look at Jules like this. As beautiful as she is, Jules doesn’t cause my breathing to hurt or make my eyes melt in my head. I swallow and turn around so that my back hits the wooden railing.

  I feel daring, so I take Kayla’s hand and pull her closer to me. Her face falls – I should let her go. But I can’t. I might be too scared to ever take her hand again. My legs start to shudder.

  “I can see into your head, you know. I can see what you’re thinking,” I say.

  She looks up with a sad expression. “And what am I thinking, Houdini?”

  “That I’m just going to use you. That I’m only after one thing. But I’m not.”

  “It’s easy to say things like that,” she says. “People say things like that all the time and they don’t mean a single word.” She doesn’t move her hand away though.

  I pull her right up to my chest, so close I can smell the perfume she probably doesn’t want me to know she’s wearing. I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss her fingers. I’m not sure it’s right that I’m being this forward. But I’m being mad – I want to see her again, and resorting to old tricks is so easy. Until I see her face, and realise that what I’m doing is wrong.

  “I’ll just have to prove it to you then,” I say, dropping her fingers from my lips, but keeping them clasped in my hands.

  We stand like this in silence. Her face is so close to mine. I want to kiss her more than anything in the world. I can see she expects me to. Wants me to, even. And that’s exactly why I can’t.

  Eventually, we continue along the bank of the canal. There are lots of birds here: herons, geese and super-loud hadedas. I talk to fill the gaps between her long silences.

  “I guess it’s easy to say I’m not playing games, and that I’m not like other guys. And it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve got this me-against-the-world attitude going on, and I like that. You don’t give up on your music, even though it’s hell every day.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  Her words are unexpected. “Why would you think I don’t know what it’s like?”

  “Because you’re big in the music scene. You have loads of friends, and girls like Julia Montgomery are throwing themselves at you.”

  “Jules only likes me because I’m part of the group, but she doesn’t care about me. She doesn’t get what’s going on inside people’s heads.”

  “And you do?”

  I don’t answer straight away. “I’ve learned that not everyone is as nice as they pretend to be.”

  She laughs. “And that’s why you like me? Because I’m nice?”

  I turn away towards the canal. “I don’t think you’re pretending to be nice …”

  We stay out till the sky turns pink.

  After I get home, I message her continuously until the early hours. It’s easier for her to open up over WhatsApp, and I don’t give up, even when my eyes burn for sleep.

  I keep typing. I want to know everything about her.

  Kayla

  COMPANY GARDENS, SUNDAY

  I can’t believe this is happening. I pace my room until it’s time to go, and then leave the house half an hour early. I have to run back to fetch my longboard because I walked out without it.

  I’ve never been so self-conscious on my board before. My balance is completely off so my body teeters uncertainly as I roll down the road towards the station. It’s no wonder: My entire life has been turned upside down. I can barely think properly, let alone navigate a downhill.

  I’m going on another date with Fin.

  It doesn’t seem real. My brain can’t hold on to this fact. Even on the train, I can’t stop my feet from bouncing. Every time that long metal deathtrap screeches to a stop, I don’t breathe until it lurches off again.

  My board interrupts a feathery swarm of pigeons that explode into the air as I pass through them. There are more pigeons and junkies than there are squirrels in the Company Gardens. My wheels squeal to a halt outside a wrought-iron gate, and I kick up my board. A pigeon waddles up to me hopefully and I shoo it away with my sneaker.

  He said he was going to take a taxi, so who knows how long he�
�ll take to get here.

  I start down a path leading towards the Planetarium, where we agreed to meet. A homeless guy shuffles up to me with his hands out. I skirt him and walk away quickly before he can even say a word. I feel bad about ignoring him, but this is Cape Town – you have to be on your guard. Besides, I need whatever change I have to buy nuts for the squirrels.

  I wonder if Fin will want to feed them too. Are musicians into that?

  I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  I climb the stairs to the Planetarium and recognise him immediately under the hood and cap. He’s sitting on the low wall, holding a bunch of white roses, and his knees are knocking together. He looks legitimately nervous. I bite my lip and walk towards him.

  He does a little double take when he sees me and stands up just as I reach him.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.” He smiles and stretches his arms out for a hug and I stretch mine out and then it gets a little awkward, so we both pull away at the same time.

  He pushes the roses forward.

  “These are for you. I don’t know what flowers you like. I forgot to ask.”

  I try to hide my sudden intake of breath by bouncing on my feet. “Thank you. They’re perfect.”

  White for purity. Har har. I clutch the bunch to my chest and he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets. Another awkward moment passes.

  “You’re early,” he says, looking at the ground.

  “So are you.”

  He grins, then tries to hide it. He’s looking everywhere but at me, even though I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

  “I bought food,” he says, motioning towards a plastic packet on the wall. “I thought we could sit on the grass and talk.”

  “Yeah, that would be great. I need to find the guy that sells nuts, though. For the squirrels.”

  He looks up and gives me a panicked look. “I should have bought some. I didn’t think …”