Mine Read online

  Sally Partridge

  Human & Rousseau

  For the unrequited lovers and broken-hearted

  Part I

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, MONDAY

  I don’t believe in heroes. Or God. But Thor – now there’s someone I can respect. Strong. Angry. Invincible. The guy can control lightning. They say that when it storms, it’s just Thor fighting giants.

  I sit on the ground with my back against the vibracrete wall, the whole backyard laid out before me. My kingdom of dead grass, bare trees and disintegrating plastic lawn furniture. If it isn’t the ugliest backyard in Lansdowne, then I don’t know what is.

  I finish rolling the translucent Rizla paper between my fingers and press the joint between my lips while I hunt for the lighter in my pockets. Once it’s lit, I puff the joint to life, inhale deeply and let out the smoke through my nostrils like a dragon. Even though it’s cold outside, I smoke the joint all the way to the end, then snuff it out between my fingers. They’re so calloused and brown that I feel nothing.

  It’s my first joint of the morning. I’ll probably go through three or four more before the day ends.

  While I’m still floating, I head back to the house to scrounge for food. I have to wear shoes because the last time I walked in here barefoot, I cut my foot on a broken beer bottle. Everything is sticky, like the dirt is alive and spreading, trying to colonise the rest of the house. I notice the bottom of the broom cupboard has been eaten away by mice. Sometimes I’ll find their crap at the bottom of bowls and mugs.

  Filth grows in filth. Like us.

  I grab a half-empty bottle of flat Coke and a leftover Steers burger from the fridge. At least my gig money keeps me fed every night.

  My old man doesn’t give a shit.

  I shove the entire burger in my mouth and swallow it down with gulps of cooldrink.

  It’s only when I grab my bag that I remember I haven’t done my homework. Again. At this rate, I’m going to have to repeat matric a third time, which would be a first for Balmoral High. I put my earphones into my ears. The bass-heavy dubstep thunders inside my skull, silencing the outside world. I close my eyes for a second, imagining I’m at a club, the lights blinking, the strobes blinding, jumping in the middle of the sweaty crowd. That’s where I’d rather be.

  I haul my bag over my shoulder and head out, slamming the door behind me. Hopefully it wakes up the old man.

  As I walk to school, I pull my beanie down over my head and pop the collar of my blazer to hide the fresh bruise on my face. I resist the urge to light up another spliff.

  THE ONLY DOWNSIDE of being stoned at school is that it makes the day slow down to a standstill. I just want to make music. I’m the only member of the crew who’s still in school, which completely sucks. Brendan finished three years ago, which makes me feel like the world’s biggest loser. But it’s my own fault for being such a dumb-ass. This is a self-inflicted prison sentence.

  I get through the day by reciting lyrics under my breath. A couple of people ask what happened to my face, but I just shrug it off. I’d rather they think I was in a fight than be the guy that gets beat up by his dad.

  My last class is with Mr Reynolds, a world-class prick. He leers at me from under thick grey eyebrows that make him look like he belongs in an old Western movie.

  “Hats off in class, Mr September,” he says, taking his seat behind the front desk.

  “It’s not a hat,” I mumble, and shake my head as I pull off the beanie, scrunching it in my fist. The bastard sees the purple bruise around my eye, just like he’s seen every cut lip and every swollen cheek. He doesn’t give a damn. He probably likes that I look like minced meat. I sit down and meet his eyes.

  Yeah, that’s right. Take a good look at me.

  “Everybody get out the worksheets I gave you to take home yesterday. Mr September, I see you don’t have yours. What a surprise. I’m sure you’ll be even less surprised to find yourself in detention. Again.”

  I pull out my notebook and slap it open, pretending that I can’t see the massive smirk on his face.

  “Where is your textbook, Mr September?”

  I look up in disbelief. “What?”

  “Textbook, Mr September. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

  “It’s not here … sir.” I hate that I have to explain myself to this guy. The words feel like sand between my teeth.

  He smiles triumphantly, just quick enough for me to see his grey tombstone teeth. “Perhaps Mr September doesn’t want to be in this class. Is that the case, Finlay?” He spits out my name like it tastes bad.

  The skin on his neck is thin and scraggly like an old man’s. If I could strangle him, I would. I want to watch that nicotine-stained moustache twitch for the last time.

  “No, sir.”

  “Oh, but I think it is,” he says softly. “Wait outside till the end of class. If you can’t be bothered to do your homework or bring your books, then I can’t be bothered to teach you.”

  I slam my notebook shut and grab my bag, my hands shaking. Brendan is going to flip out – all these detentions have made me miss a whole bunch of rehearsals. But the guys know Dark Father would be nothing without me. Without Thor.

  The door thunders closed behind me, and I don’t stick around. This just became a two-joint morning.

  Kayla

  RONDEBOSCH, MONDAY

  Lorenda enters the lounge to check if Craig and I are doing our homework. We’re just pretending until she leaves for the shops – we’re both rubbish at schoolwork. He’s here for one thing, and it’s not Macbeth.

  I lick my finger and purposefully turn the page of my setwork book.

  Lorenda hovers at the window and wipes her hands on her skirt. “Can I get you kids some more cooldrink?” she asks hopefully.

  “No thanks, Lorenda,” I say, without looking up.

  She flinches at my use of her first name, but her smile doesn’t waver. “And your friend?” she says, her tone still awkwardly formal.

  I suppress a frown. Craig’s not my friend.

  “He doesn’t want anything either.” I roll my eyes and my voice is like ice. That does the trick. Her smile disappears.

  “Alright, Kayla. Don’t be so onbeskof,” she says, sliding back into her normal accent. She shoots me an injured look before leaving the room.

  Craig shakes his head and his dark fringe flops in his eyes. “If I spoke to my mother like that, I’d get a hiding.”

  “Lucky I’m not you then.”

  He gives me a hard look, as if he’s asking himself why he’s taking attitude from the weird girl in class.

  Duh. Because he won’t get laid if he doesn’t.

  I know I shouldn’t give in to him like this, but what other reason does he have to stick around? Guys can be such douchbags.

  “Look, she works from home. Do you want her gone or not? Or would you rather have a fat chat with my mother for half an hour?”

  “Okay, okay. I get it.”

  Lorenda eventually leaves for the shops, just like she does every other afternoon so she can chat to the ladies at Nino’s. She likes to get out sometimes as her bookkeeping work has her cooped up all day. I feel bad for being rude to her, but things haven’t been great between us lately. It’s easier to fight than to talk about why I’m so unhappy. Like she’d even understand anyway.

  Craig and I head to my room.

  As soon as the door’s closed he shoves me against the wall and presses his lips against mine. I like the way Craig kisses me. The last guy who came over, Greg, didn’t bother to kiss me at all.

  Craig pulls off my shirt and starts pawing at me with his hands. Goosebumps flare up my arms. The teddy bear on my bedside table watches us out of his remaining button eye.

  “This is so wrong. You�
��re like my sister,” he says as he kisses me.

  I push him away roughly. “Don’t say that.” He doesn’t realise how hurtful the things he says are. If Craig was anything like a brother, he’d actually care about me.

  He smirks. “Aw, come on. You like it.”

  “Don’t be gross, Craig.”

  I don’t like it. What I do like is his crooked smile, the way his blue eyes linger on mine, as if underneath his bad boy act he really does like me. That this isn’t just pretend.

  We move to the bed and I climb on top of him.

  WHEN I GO to the mirror to check if my mascara is smudged like a panda, I find myself looking at someone else. My cheeks are rosy and my hair is thick and wild, with the dyed blue ends shimmering in the light that streams in through the window. Lorenda keeps telling me how pretty I am, but she’s just being a mom. I can’t see it, although my stomach is flat and my boobs aren’t that small. If he keeps wanting to hook up, surely Craig must think I’m a little bit pretty?

  When I turn around, he has my diary propped open on his knees. The crow-feather bookmark dangles from the spine. Time freezes.

  “Who’s Greg? Your boyfriend? Am I in here?” he asks, grinning.

  I fly forward, my heart in my throat. “Get out,” I say, snatching the book away from him.

  “What? Why leave it out in the open if you don’t want anyone to read it?”

  “It wasn’t left out. It was underneath a pile of Justice League Dark comics.”

  Craig glowers at me and grabs his shirt from the floor. “Whatever. Crazy cow.” He slams the door behind him.

  So much for being like a sister.

  I slump back to the bed and iron out the bent page with my hand. He can’t read my diary. No one can.

  If he knew the truth … I write about him a lot. Other than my friends Rebecca and Jasmine, he’s the only person at school who is ever nice to me or who bothers to talk to me. I overheard Sam bragging about hooking up with Craig at a party last weekend, and he apparently showed up at her house with flowers the next day. He didn’t seem to mind everyone knowing about the two of them.

  He’s never bought me flowers.

  I sit down and put my hands over my face. I have a flute recital I need to practise for, but I can’t bring myself to start. Music is my passion, yet I keep getting distracted by my feelings. Instead, I reach for a pen and start writing. I record every second of Craig’s visit, every sentence spoken, every action. And a list, which helps me make sense of things. Seeing it in black and white is a good reminder to myself when my heart starts slipping in his direction.

  Reasons why Craig Cupido will never date me:

  I wear too much make-up.

  I’m not special.

  I’m not pretty enough.

  I’m crazy.

  I’m uncool, boring and weird.

  I’m unlovable.

  The dating game is a huge lie. Whenever I fall for a guy, I get ignored. When guys do pay me any attention, it’s because they want to hook up. I say yes because I hope it’ll lead to something more. But it never does. Not with me anyway. You have to be up for anything, but not have any expectations.

  Is love always like this? Lorenda says I’m miserable all the time.

  The truth is, I have nothing to smile about.

  They think I’m ungrateful. Is that the secret? If you act grateful and happy all the time, then people start to like you?

  It can’t be that simple. Seems like just another trick.

  But I suspect it’s just me with all the bad luck.

  Finlay

  LANSDOWNE, MONDAY

  Instead of going straight to Brendan’s, I walk home to pick up my gear. The route takes me underneath a dodgy bridge lined with unconscious bergies. Sometimes I wish one of them would start a fight with me. But I think it shows in my face, because no one ever does.

  At home, there’s still nothing in the fridge. I’m going to have to grab something at Brendan’s place or get something on the way. Fin the bum. I untangle my headphones, second-hand like all my gear, and stuff them into my backpack. I pull on my heavy jacket and cap, which makes me look even more street. Then I raid my secret wad of cash inside my lampshade for taxi money.

  I head off quickly past the dead grass and random metal junk rusting in the sun, and jump over the wall. I hate people knowing this is where I live. That’s why practice is always at Brendan’s place. I tell them we can’t come here because the old man works nights as a security guard and needs to sleep. It’s easier for them to believe a lie.

  The taxi rattles down Main Road. I get off in Claremont and walk up Kildare Road, where all the fancy restaurants are. Brendan lives in his parents’ place in Newlands. It’s the type of house where normal, happy people live. Garden. Welcome mat. Chimes that tinkle in the wind.

  Bones is just getting out his Citi Golf as I come round the corner. He lifts his arm and makes a dumb-ass gesture with his fingers. I do the same because we’re all just a bunch of dumb-asses. He puts a beer on the roof of his car and disappears to the back to fetch his gear. I grab the beer can as I pass, and head straight inside before he notices.

  Brendan and his dad are busy transforming the garage into a studio for us, with proper soundproofing and everything. It’s pretty sweet. Wish my old man would do something like that. But if I told him Dark Father was getting steady gigs, he’d just hold out a hand for his share of the cash.

  I make a beeline for the kitchen and start pulling food out the fridge. There’s bread on the counter. I don’t even bother buttering it, just start piling stuff on and eating it right there, out my hand. I finish the beer and grab a can of Pepsi out the fridge because Jules won’t mind.

  Oh crap – Jules. I forgot I was going to run into Brendan’s little sister.

  Someone slaps me hard on the back, and I turn around and snap my fingers against Brendan’s.

  “You alright, bru?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I’m always alright.”

  Brendan grins and fiddles with his peak cap. It’s so big it makes him look about fourteen years old, which is funny because he just turned twenty-one.

  “Bones wrote the sickest beat last night. Wait till you hear it.”

  It’d better be good – I ditched detention to be here.

  I down the rest of the Pepsi and follow him to the garage, passing Jules’ bedroom. She lifts her head and smiles, and I quickly look away. Brendan doesn’t know his sister basically threw herself at me at the ElectroVerse party a few weeks ago. Her exact words were very PG 18. And how was I supposed to respond to that? I’ve known the girl since she was nine years old. I told her in her drunk state that I didn’t want her to be a one-night stand, that she means more than that.

  Special. That’s what I said. What the hell was I thinking? So now she’s been texting me. I hope she doesn’t think we’ve got a vibe going on because we’re both in school or something. What a nightmare.

  Bones is already laying down a track from one of our first albums. As soon as I hear it, my thoughts about the Jules situation disappear, and all that matters is the music.

  I roll my head from side to side and start rapping out loud:

  The city, the city, the city.

  The city and me, forget about me, go bury me.

  Blacker than black, booze fumes and smack,

  what the hell is the point of that?”

  Brendan waves his hand and starts freestyling. Sometimes we like to mix it up on stage for the fans who remember the older stuff. Add some more bass, maybe dub it up. People go crazy for that. Plus it makes us better than the rest of the losers trying to do what we do. Everyone we know is in a band. Even their girlfriends are in bands. To get anywhere in this town, you have to stand out.

  We’re halfway through the song when the door opens and some girls come in. Jules is with them. They pile onto the couch in the corner, all legs and heels. I turn away, concentrate on the beat, but the momentum is broken – Brendan is posing now that the
girls are here. I wish he’d stop advertising the times of our rehearsals on Facebook.

  Jules smiles at me and something splinters inside my chest. It never used to be like this. When did she change from being Julia the sweet kid to Jules the boy-crazy teenager? She’s still wearing her school uniform, but with the shirt pulled out and her shoes off, her toenails painted neon pink.

  Her friends are all in on it. It’s obvious the way they look at me and giggle. Even Brendan is starting to notice, and that’s a problem. I know exactly how these things go down. People are going to start putting two and two together and making jokes, and that’s when a situation explodes. Either we hook up or I diss her. I look like the asshole either way.

  Practice is finished. Brendan isn’t focused anymore and, to be honest, neither am I. He’s picked up his bass guitar and is starting to jam Joy Division’s “She’s lost control” to show off.

  I approach Bones’ decks. “I’m outta here. Check you later.”

  We cross palms and snap fingers.

  Brendan comes over, grinning broadly. “We’re going to kill it this weekend,” he says.

  “Yeah, no doubt.”

  The giggling goes into hyperdrive as I approach the door, and Jules jumps up like her chair is spring-loaded. “I’ll walk you out,” she says.

  I press my lips together into a tight non-smile. I don’t know what my problem is. Jules is gorgeous. Smoking hot. But I just don’t want this. Maybe it’s because she wants it so bad … No, why am I even overthinking it? She’s my friend’s sister. She’s practically my sister.

  I pull up my hood over my cap and press myself against the doorframe to put as much distance between us as possible.

  Jules pins a strand of light-brown hair behind her ear and bites her bottom lip. “I’m looking forward to the show,” she says.

  “It’s gonna be awesome,” I reply to the floor. “I’ll see you around,” I say, squeezing her cheek between my fingers.

  She beams at me with those big brown deer eyes of hers, making me wonder if I’ve just done the right thing. Damn it.