Unrequited

by Emma Grey

  Just before you raised your voice?

  From up here

  It’s too easy to fall

  From up here

  How do I make the call?

  If I had wings to unfold

  If I didn’t need to hold on

  I could know

  This plunging slow

  Vertigo.

  The ensuing four minutes as he plays around with the tune and lyrics undo every shred of doubt Kat ever had about Angus Marsden and his musical ability. Boy, had she been wrong about him. Maybe her question on the rooftop wasn’t fair. He is happy. At least, he is when he’s doing this.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asks, in the silence at the end.

  ‘I wish I’d written it.’

  He smiles like he knows the feeling. He knows what that compliment means to a musician.

  ‘Well let’s practise the one you have written,’ he says, with that trademark smile swooned over by girls worldwide. Directed at her. Full blast! Either she’s not quite over the vertigo or she’s coming down with something. Or maybe she’s going to have to build some resistance to Angus Marsden because even the expression on his face is making her skin tingle.

  He goes on, like he’s blissfully unaware of what he’s doing to her, even though she bets he isn’t. ‘I was thinking,’ he says. ‘We don’t want to rehearse this too much before we start recording. I think we need to keep the spontaneity, don’t you? Part of the fun of this song is that we made it up as we went along.’

  She agrees. It was fun. And they’re poised to start the first bar when, annoyingly, there’s a knock at the door. Angus shoots Kat a look and she understands immediately what to do. No one can know that she’s here. She runs to the nearest bedroom, pulls the door nearly closed and watches him scoop up her school bags and place them in the cupboard beside the front door. He glances around the room to ensure they’ve eradicated all evidence. Half of her hates that. The other half finds it delicious.

  What she’s not prepared for is who’s standing there when the door swings open. She actually has to grasp the doorframe for balance. Just as she’s managed to relax in his presence, this has to happen.

  Chapter 36

  ‘Cassidy!’ Angus says, his voice strained.

  Oh, God, he thinks. I’ve got a schoolgirl in my bedroom. Cassidy’s going to annihilate her — and me! I’ve GOT to get rid of her!

  He glances over Cassidy’s shoulder into the hall and notices Zach’s door shutting quietly. Hmm. He’ll throttle Zach later for letting Cassidy up here! She’s overdressed as usual — a walking advertisement for several designers at once. And he knows this much about teenage girls: Kat’s going to feel immediately insecure by comparison. In her school uniform and her House Captain badge and her scuffed black school shoes — which, by the way, is a look she totally rocks.

  ‘Angus, there’s no time for niceties. We need to talk,’ Cassidy instructs, power walking past him and tossing her Gucci bag onto his lounge like she owns it.

  Were they exchanging niceties? He missed it.

  He glances towards the bedroom door, which is a mistake. Cassidy follows his gaze. He tries to distract her by walking her towards the floor-length window and looking out. He knows she can handle the sheer drop way better than Kat would, because he’s been trapped on a balcony with her before.

  ‘Sydney, hey?’ he says, grasping for conversation like he always has to with her. Cassidy grimaces. Then she looks like she remembers why she’s here. She appears to soften a bit, which is a manouevre Angus doesn’t buy for a second. Next, she’ll flick her . . . yep, there it goes. Long red hair tossed over her shoulder while she . . . A-ha! Knew it! Dips her lashes and looks up at him searchingly. He stopped falling for this act about two years ago, but she keeps batting and flicking away as if she’ll eventually penetrate his heart.

  She won’t.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, ‘I need you to do something about your fans.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They hate me.’

  ‘Hate is a strong word, Cassidy . . .’

  ‘I mean, I know they’re just jealous of us . . .’

  There is no ‘us’.

  ‘They see all these photos of us together . . .’

  Which you take!

  ‘It’s obvious we’ve got a lot of chemistry . . .’

  ‘It is?’ (He says that one aloud before he can stop himself.)

  ‘Come on, Angus, stop mucking around. You know we do. You can feel it.’

  As if to make her point, she takes a step towards him and puts her hand on his chest, her wrist clanking with too many bangles as she snakes her fingers up over his shoulder and around his neck. What, is she going to kiss him? This is so not happening. Not in front of Kat. Not ever.

  ‘Cassidy, just stop this. Now.’

  But it’s too late. There’s a flash from an office building opposite. Then several more flashes.

  ‘Did you tip them off?’ he asks, really annoyed now.

  He takes her hand and removes it from his neck. ‘This has got to stop! We’re not together. We’ve never been together. We’re never going to be together.’

  ‘But I love you, Angus!’

  He can’t believe this. Nor can he believe the unmistakable crash of something large and expensive shattering into a gazillion pieces inside his bedroom.

  Cassidy turns her head towards the bedroom and scowls.

  This is not going to be pretty.

  Chapter 37

  What. Have. I. DONE? Kat thinks, as she stands amongst the smashed remains of an enormous, ENORMOUS table lamp. Also, who has lamps this enormous?

  Angus rushes into the bedroom and checks the damage. ‘Are you okay? What happened?’

  Hot on his heels is Cassidy Moore, who is for once looking anything but poised. Confused, horrified, even more confused . . . And critical, if her condescending sizing-up of Kat is anything to go by.

  ‘Who’s this?’ she snaps, eyeing Kat’s hair with a slight shiver.

  Angus ignores her. ‘Have you cut yourself?’

  ‘No. I’m fine. I’m sorry, Angus. I don’t know how I did this. I just brushed past it . . . I’ll pay for the damage of course.’ (Not that she has any clue how.)

  Angus waves this suggestion away, crunches over the shattered china, picks up the phone and dials housekeeping. Cassidy takes in the unmade bed, the girl in the room, and looks like she’s putting two and two together and getting a tabloid headline.

  ‘It’s not how it looks!’ Kat quickly explains.

  ‘It doesn’t matter how it looks,’ Angus argues, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong. Is there anything I can help you with, Cassidy? We’re kinda busy here.’

  Cassidy is speechless with rage. Speechless. She backs out of the room like she’s inadvertently walked in on some sort of graphic murder scene, scoops up her bag and slams the door behind her.

  In the silence that follows, Kat watches Angus calmly survey the chaos. She allows herself a second or two to absorb how very, very far from reality this is right now. She’s in a pop star’s bedroom. Well, technically, she’s destroying it. And he’s just standing there, beside her, being patient and understanding. And very, very good-looking. Like, seriously above average. It’s actually quite ridiculous . . . And romantic.

  Until he says, ‘Will I order that sushi?’

  Sushi? Now? ‘What about this mess?’

  ‘Someone’s coming to clean it up.’

  ‘Yes, but shouldn’t I . . .’

  He smiles, as if she’s clueless. Which she is. ‘They’ll want to clean it up for us,’ he explains. ‘If we cut ourselves on the pieces, they’ll worry we’ll sue.’

  She wonders if all afternoons are like this for people like Angus. No PE lessons. No homework. No uniforms. Someone to clean up after you when you smash insanely expensive lamps on the floor.

  Her eyes drift to the novel lying on his bedside table. Is that Pride and Prejudice?


  ‘What’s this?’ she asks, picking it up, turning it over and absent-mindedly sitting on the white sheets of the unmade bed, flicking through the pages. Angus pauses for a second, then sits beside her and says, earnestly, ‘Well, that’s a book, Kat. Do you not have these in Australia?’

  She laughs out loud and slaps his arm with it. ‘What’s it doing here?’

  ‘That’s my dirty little secret,’ he says conspiratorially.

  ‘Your dirty little secret is that you’re a closet Jane Austen fan?’

  He laughs. ‘I’m not joking, Kat. If I tell you this, can you promise not to tell anyone else?’

  Whoa! Okay. Confessions of a pop star. She tries not to look too eager.

  ‘It’s just one thing from my private life that I try to keep “normal”,’ he explains. ‘That’s why I don’t really tell people. I’m enrolled in a Bachelor of Arts degree. I’m studying by distance through the University of London.’

  He’s what?

  ‘No need to look so surprised!’

  She shakes her head. ‘Sorry! I didn’t mean . . . It’s just not the reading material you expect to find on the bedside table of a pop star.’

  ‘Well, I guess if you don’t ordinarily hang around in pop stars’ bedrooms, how could you know?’

  She feels hot. And confused.

  ‘There’s a bit of the Lizzy Bennet about you, Kat. Always making hasty judgements about the hero.’ He winks.

  She doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s right. What she does know is that they’re both now sitting on the dishevelled sheets of his bed. He looks like he’s reading her mind as she twists the hem of her school uniform skittishly.

  What now? They’re sitting so close. He’s just looking at her, quietly. He’s beautiful. He’s an international sensation. He’s writing music with her. He’s doing a B.A. at the University of London and trusts her with his secret. Is he going to kiss her? Does she want him to?

  ‘I want to show you a sample contract and discuss some legal stuff,’ he explains, matter-of-factly.

  Right. Of course. Maybe he’s not the heartbreaker the magazines make him out to be. Or maybe he’s changed his opinion of her now he’s officially met her. Either way, a little while later, there they are — sitting on the couch devouring plates of dial-in sushi and discussing song royalties and intellectual property and overseas rights. Because this is apparently Kat’s life now.

  Chapter 38

  Sarah’s highly strung as she’s walking into the Legally Blonde rehearsal. She’s never like this at rehearsals. Not that the rehearsal itself has anything to do with her anxiety and the fact that she wishes she was at home in her PJs, slothing on the couch.

  She had a conversation this afternoon with Joel about the medical internship. She’s so happy for him, though she did spend half an hour agonising over why. Is it genuine happiness for his fabulous opportunity or is it because he now won’t be available to be at Kat’s beck and call?

  She feels bad thinking of Kat in this way. The girl can’t help it. She didn’t ask to meet Joel. She didn’t force him to fall for her. She didn’t know Sarah even knew him, let alone how she felt about him.

  And she’s a really nice person, which is a warmer description than Sarah would give about herself at this point. It’s been a long while since she’s had this much self-doubt. She’s jealous and sad and hasn’t got over keeping the secret from Joel about Kat, even though he appears to have forgiven her. Plus, she’s trying to re-adjust to life without the partner she didn’t really have in the first place. It’s hard. Impossible, even.

  Even worse, people don’t get it. They’re always saying ‘You’re so lucky!’ and ‘It’s easy for you!’ and ‘Want to trade places?’

  Sarah puts her bag in a locker in the dressing room, sets the combination lock and heads for the studio. They wouldn’t want to trade places if they knew how miserable she really was right now. How she’s stumbling around in the wrong degree, trapped in the friend zone with the one guy she really loves. She only has this musical as an escape from it all, except for . . .

  Oh! There’s Kat! She’s sitting with the rest of the cast on the stage floor, and it looks like she’s pretending to listen to the director with a faraway expression that can’t fool Sarah. She can tell that Kat’s so not here, and why would she be? It’s as if she’s already flown the nest but none of them know what’s going on. No one knows she’s been discovered. It’s wildly cool! But she needs to play it cool. She does, too, until she notices Sarah walk in, and then she plays it flustered. She flushes bright red and doesn’t know where to look. She fidgets and squirms and then tries not to fidget and squirm which only makes her look even more awkward.

  Why? Does she know something? Did Joel tell her? Oh, gawd. Joel, please don’t tell me you’ve told her . . .

  ‘Sarah! You’re here. Let’s get started!’ the director says enthusiastically, and everyone scrambles up, clears the stage and waits for their cue. Kat scurries off with the other chorus members (which strikes Sarah as so ironic, given Kat’s about to hit the big time).

  They get stuck into the rehearsal. It’s a relief, in a way. Sarah can play a fictional part. She can escape real life for a while.

  A little while later, in the rehearsal break, she’s making a coffee in the backstage kitchenette when Kat approaches her. She doesn’t know who’s more uptight. Either way, the conversation that’s about to happen is incredibly low on her list of desirable moments in life.

  ‘How are you, Kat?’

  ‘Okay, I think. How are you?’

  Sarah doesn’t quite know how to answer. She can hardly tell Kat that she’s feeling atrocious because Joel has a thing for her. She can’t tell her she’s envious about Kat’s latest music news, either. Kat doesn’t know she knows any of that. So she just says, ‘Fine, thanks.’ Which is a big, fat lie.

  ‘Sarah, I’m not sure how to say this, or even if I should . . .’

  Kat looks excruciatingly tense.

  ‘Um, I know you’re friends with Joel Isaacson. Good friends at least . . .’

  At least?

  ‘I’m just going to come out and say this, okay? I get the feeling there’s something else going on between you. And I don’t want to get in the way of that if there is. I really don’t. Say the word, Sarah, and I won’t . . .’

  ‘What, um . . . What gives you that impression, Kat?’ Sarah manages to croak out.

  Kat shrugs. ‘It’s hard to say. It’s just, whenever I mention you, he’s weird.’

  ‘Good weird or bad weird?’

  ‘I don’t know. Good? He avoids talking about you, and he gets kind of agitated when I mention you. And changes the subject. So, I thought maybe you guys had been together once. He acts like you’re an ex-girlfriend. Or like there’s something unresolved . . . I don’t know.’

  An ex-girlfriend? Is that good or bad? Sarah doesn’t know what to make of this, or how to answer the question.

  ‘I don’t want things to be tense between us during the musical. I have some other, er — some stuff going on right now. I want to make sure things are okay between us.’

  Sarah has to hand it to Kat. She’s mature beyond her years. And understandably stressed.

  ‘Look, Kat. I know Joel’s not going to be around much over the next few months . . .’

  ‘What do you mean he won’t be around?’

  Oh. He hasn’t told Kat about the internship.

  ‘Um, sorry. I thought you knew. I can’t tell you his news. He’ll have to. But Kat, I want you to know that if you need someone to, you know — help, with this whole Angus thing . . .’

  ‘He told you about that?’ Kat’s face pales.

  ‘Oh gosh! Sorry. I’m not doing well here, am I? Um, Joel and I . . . well, we’re very close. We have been since we were nine years old. We tell each other everything, pretty much. He told me about you before he even thought he could find you. He told me about Angus and the Elle thing really early on. Practically the day
it started, I think.’

  ‘He didn’t even tell me that until he had to,’ Kat says sadly.

  She looks hurt. Sarah honestly didn’t mean to hurt her.

  ‘He likes to talk things through,’ she explains. Then she leans in to whisper: ‘What you’re about to do, Kat . . . It’s massive!’

  Kat looks pained and vulnerable and, actually, pretty scared. Sarah wonders how she’ll ever take to the stage.

  ‘Do you have anyone who you can talk to about all of this?’ Sarah asks. ‘You really need to confide in someone.’

  A light flickers in Kat’s eyes, like she’s thought of someone, then she thanks Sarah for the talk, ends the conversation pretty abruptly, and makes an excuse to leave rehearsal early.

  Chapter 39

  Kat calls Lucy as she leaves the Seymour Centre but it goes straight to voicemail. She leaves a message, saying she REALLY needs to talk to her and to please phone back. Fast. While she’s waiting, she checks Twitter. Outrage is exploding all over Angus’s profile, stirred by Cassidy’s tweet: ‘@elle_twentysix do you know you have a VERY young rival? @AngusMarsdenOfficial’

  There are fans attacking Cassidy. Fans attacking Angus. Fans attacking Elle. Fans attacking her ‘young rival’.

  It’s horrible. Kat is hot and prickly and shaky all over just reading it. Scrolling down further she notices — what is this? Death threats! And, in the middle of this, a text arrives from her mum in New Zealand.

  ‘The school counsellor emailed me. A number of teachers have noted that you’re distracted. What’s going on? We’ll talk about this on the phone later. DON’T drop the ball at the end of Year Twelve!’

  Oh great. She can hardly wait for that conversation.

  Lucy pings her on Facebook. ‘Got your message. Can’t talk right now.’

  What? Lucy can always talk. Is she mad with Kat, just when she needs her more than ever?

  She notices a missed call from Joel and a voicemail: ‘Sarah gave me the name of her tutor. She works part-time in a law firm specialising in the entertainment industry. Want me to set up a meeting with her?’