Out of Tune Read online

  I shrug. ‘He and Todd don’t really hang out or anything, I figured it would just be a little forced for the two of them. Besides, all the guys are going over to Austin’s tonight. His parents are visiting relatives and won’t be back till late, so they’re having a boys’ night in or something.’

  ‘Pizza, beer, video games?’ Mom clarifies, giving me a knowing look.

  ‘Probably,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘Todd’s made a few friends – Callum was telling me the other day. They sound like nice boys.’

  ‘Mm.’ I’ve seen him with them sometimes in corridors between classes, or at lunch, or before school. I don’t know them all that well, though. ‘Yeah, good for him.’

  ‘Callum says he has a hard time making friends.’ Then she adds, ‘Maybe you should try to spend some more time with him, out of school. Go see a movie or something.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Mom asks how school is going, and I tell her about how gym class is an even bigger waste of time than creative writing, and how I’m enjoying math and biology and how chemistry is hard, but in a good way, and I tell her about the book we’re studying right now in English – The Great Gatsby – which is great, because I first read it when I was about thirteen, and a few times since then.

  It doesn’t take long to finish preparing the vegetables.

  ‘Go on, go get ready,’ Mom tells me, glancing at the clock. Forty minutes until they’ll be here. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem, Mom.’ I smile and head upstairs to take a shower. I don’t spend too long there, though I’m loath to leave the hot water that pounds on my body and relaxes my muscles.

  I towel dry my hair and braid it, because it’s so thick, it will take far too long to dry. I do, however, apply some anti-frizz serum first to ensure it goes wavy rather than frizzy. I put on some make-up to cover up my freckles, too.

  As for clothes, I don’t make any special effort, not like Mom asked me to do when we went to dinner at Callum and Todd’s. A pair of comfortable skinny jeans, and a Mayday Parade T-shirt that is too big and obscures most of my figure, but is one of my favorites because it’s so damn soft.

  When I head back downstairs, Mom is re-heating the sauce on the stove. She’s changed into a pair of jeans and a nice pink blouse. She glances over at me, in my band T-shirt and bare feet, and just rolls her eyes.

  ‘Lay the table, please.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I’ve just put down the last fork when the doorbell rings, and I call, ‘I’ll get it,’ even though Mom knows I will anyway.

  Callum stands there with a covered dish in his hands. He’s wearing a blue shirt and slacks, and smiles amicably at me. Todd stands slightly behind him, and offers me a small smile.

  ‘Come on in.’ I smile back politely and step aside so that they can come in.

  ‘I brought dessert,’ Callum says, holding up the dish awkwardly as he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on a peg on the wall.

  I take the dish from him and say, ‘Awesome! I’ll pass it on to the chef. Uh, come sit down.’

  I gesture for them to go on into the dining room and then take the dish in to Mom. She takes the lid off. ‘Ooh!’ It smells gorgeous. I peek and see that it’s a trifle which looks even more tantalizing than it smells.

  Mom tells me to get the pitcher of water from the fridge and says she’ll bring the food through in a moment.

  I invite Todd and Callum to sit at the dining table. It’s large enough to fit six, maybe eight if you used the ends. We don’t use the dining room much because Mom likes to keep it for special occasions. We usually eat in the kitchen. But for things like Thanksgiving and Easter, and when there are guests (other than Josh) or family over, we use the dining room.

  The carpet is dark red and the walls are cream, the table and chairs made of a dark wood I don’t know the name of, and the lights are soft, making everything feel cozy and warm.

  ‘Now I’m not all that much of a cook, unlike some people,’ Mom announces, her arms laden with plates, ‘so there’s only a main course from me.’

  ‘Just as well, really,’ I say. ‘Keep some room for dessert.’

  ‘This looks great, Isabelle,’ Callum says as she puts a plate in front of him. And it does look great. Mom is a good cook – but not quite the cook that Callum is. While we eat, they ask Todd and me questions about school, or talk about other things between themselves.

  ‘Oh, you’re studying Gatsby, too?’ Mom says when Todd mentions it. ‘How do you like it?’

  ‘It’s good. I don’t like Carraway as a narrator, but it’s a good book. And the quote from Daisy at the start—’

  ‘That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool,’ I quote it quietly, looking up from under my eyelashes across the table at Todd, who catches my eye.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘that one.’

  ‘It’s my favorite quote in the entire book,’ I tell him.

  He cocks his head and bites the inside of his cheek. I can’t see his forehead but I bet it’s crinkled. He’s thinking hard, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t invite me to elaborate on why I love that quote so much, and I don’t want to bore them all with an extensive analysis of it, so I say nothing.

  There is silence, a heavy one; I count seven heartbeats.

  ‘It’s supposed to be absolutely horrendous weather coming in next week,’ Mom says. God. Now I know where I get it from. I smile down at my meat and vegetables and shake my head a little.

  We finish dinner not long after, and then conversation is easy as we all fill the empty places in our stomachs with the trifle, which, for the record, tastes even better than it looks and smells.

  We all sit a while longer and carry on talking lazily. Eventually, Callum says, ‘I think I’d best be heading home. I have to be up early in the morning, so an early night’s on the cards for me I think. Thank you for the meal, it was wonderful.’ He lays a hand on Todd’s shoulder then, and they exchange a glance, an unspoken conversation.

  Mom bumps her foot against me under the table. When I look at her, she gives me a prompting look in return. I understand immediately. She wants me to spend more time with Todd, be his friend, like she said earlier.

  ‘Do you want to stay and watch a movie?’ I ask Todd. I don’t have a problem hanging out with him. I’m just unsure of myself around him, because he knows a different side of me than I usually show, the side I like to keep behind closed doors so people can’t judge it.

  ‘Uh . . .’ He looks at his dad, who gives him an encouraging smile. ‘Sure, why not?’,’ he says, nodding and giving me a tiny half-smile. I smile back, and help my mom to clear away the dishes. Callum tries to help, but we’re too quick for him, and refuse to let guests help tidy up.

  ‘Are you going to go upstairs?’ Mom asks me.

  I shrug. ‘I guess so. Unless you mind, particularly.’

  She shakes her head. ‘That’s all right. There’s a movie I recorded on the TV in the lounge anyway I’m going to watch. Oh, and your grandmother called earlier, remind me to call her back tomorrow.’

  ‘OK.’

  I go back into the dining room, and we say goodbye to Callum, who’s already yawning, let him out, and then I start up the stairs. ‘Come on,’ I say over my shoulder to Todd when he doesn’t follow.

  ‘Are you sure your mom doesn’t want some help doing the dishes?’ he says. ‘I feel kind of bad.’

  I shake my head. ‘She’ll put it in the dishwasher. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Okay.’

  In my room, he hesitates by the doorway, taking it all in. He looks at the photo frames on the chest of drawers and the stacks of books piled around my room in an efficiently organized mess; and he looks at the CD tower in the corner of my room – it’s mostly filled with the back-up copies of albums I’ve downloaded online so I can play them in my car.

  ‘It’s nice,’ is all he says. I laugh, and bend down by my CD tower to the small collection of movies at
the bottom.

  ‘How about Toy Story?’ I ask, picking up the first one I see.

  He lets out a breath of laughter. ‘Sure.’

  He perches on the edge of the foot of my bed. I laugh at him, but not in a mean way. ‘The bed doesn’t bite, you know. Lie down, if you want. I don’t mind.’

  ‘I’ll sit,’ he says, moving more comfortably onto the bed and tucking a leg beneath him, and then he takes out his guitar pick, and his eyes roam my books as restlessly as his fingers fidget with the pick.

  I set up the DVD and wait patiently for it to load. Dad offered to get me a new DVD player for Christmas, but this one works fine – it’s just slow.

  ‘I didn’t know you were such a Gatsby fan,’ I say.

  ‘I could say the same for you,’ he replies. Then, ‘Your favorite quote.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I turn my head to look at him.

  ‘Why that one? I mean, it’s the kind of book kids all over the country study in English class. There’s a lot of quotes in it. So why do you like that one best?’

  ‘Do you want the essay answer, or . . .?’ He gives me a look and I laugh. ‘I just think it’s a great quote for the society in those days. It’s a good one to analyze themes and characters for class. Does it really matter?’

  ‘I think it matters,’ he says, looking me dead in the eye. ‘People say that a person’s interests and dreams and likes can define them, but so can the things they read, and the quotes they like.’

  Then he gives me one of his rare, proper smiles, this one fuller, and sadder, than any I’ve seen before. ‘Music is what feelings sound like; and art is what feelings look like; and quotes are the things we might’ve felt and thought and said if some other bugger hadn’t got there first.’

  I frown quizzically, but then I smile. ‘Who said that?’

  ‘My granddad,’ he says, with a short bark of laughter. ‘It seemed appropriate.’

  ‘Entirely so,’ I agree gravely, and we both laugh again. Then I press play on the movie and I go to lie on my bed, and we don’t really speak about anything particularly important the rest of the evening – just things about school, and classes, and amusing stories that aren’t very personal at all.

  Well, nothing very personal until I remember his SpongeBob underpants, at which point I start laughing helplessly.

  ‘What?’

  When I control my giggling I bite my lip and look at him. ‘The other day – I forgot to say to you – but I opened my curtains and saw you getting changed for school . . . and . . .’ I’m laughing again and the next words come out in a rush. ‘You had SpongeBob undies.’

  There’s a brief moment where my words register in his brain; when it begins to sink in, his eyes (currently a soft blue) bulge from their sockets, his mouth falls open.

  ‘Oh, God, you didn’t.’

  I nod, still laughing – not so much at the mental image, but at the concept of this moody, secretive, seventeen-year-old guy wearing such childish underwear.

  He shakes his head, horrified. ‘You didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Not yet. I make no promises.’

  ‘God. Don’t. I’d never live it down. I have a reputation to uphold. Remember, I apparently went to juvie?’

  ‘It’s cute.’

  ‘No it’s not. Don’t tell anybody.’

  ‘Or else what?’ I open my eyes wide, as if daring him, the tone of my voice ominous but strained as I rein in a laugh.

  He hesitates before saying, ‘You have a Wonder Woman bra.’

  My cheeks flare red, and I glower at him. I must’ve forgotten to close the shutters when I got dressed one morning or something, and he’d seen it. Oh, brilliant.

  We’re at a stalemate.

  ‘What if I don’t care that people know I have a Wonder Woman bra?’

  He raises his eyebrows at me, and I look away, faltering.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Glad to see we’re in agreement on that.’

  There is a still moment between us, the film continuing in the background, and then we exchange a cool glance, and he cracks into a wide smile, and I start to laugh again. I collapse back onto my pillows and the both of us are laughing, suddenly unable to stop, and even though my stomach aches from it, I can’t help but laugh.

  It’s just nice being there with Todd. Easy. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

  And not once do I think of Josh.

  Chapter Nine

  Before I know it, it’s already October.

  The leaves are starting to turn shades of mustard yellow, burned umber, watered-down red, sunset orange. As the days progress, a few leaves begin to drop, scattering the ground.

  I love fall. It looks so beautiful. My favorite days are those when the sun is bright but it’s not too warm out, and it’s early in the morning, when nobody else is awake, and the world seems more alive somehow. There are few people, and no cars; the leaves crunch beneath your feet with each step you take, each one producing a sharp melody; and the birds and squirrels rustling in the trees make everything feel almost like a fairyland.

  The weather gets colder, though, and the wind picks up a little.

  The glowing green numbers on my digital alarm read 06:03. I don’t need to be up for school for an hour, but I’m wide awake. I wish it was the weekend. Instead, it’s Friday – so close, yet so far.

  I showered last night so there’s no point killing time by taking another, so for a few minutes, I lie staring at the ceiling and not doing anything at all. It’s deathly quiet outside – nobody’s leaving for school or work yet. There’s a breeze though – I know because I can hear the leaves rustling, crisp against the road.

  I decide that today I’ll wear the black skinny jeans I bought last week when I went to the mall with Mom, with an orange sweater. Getting up, I turn off my alarms. I sit on my bed and stare at the curtains before I go and open them.

  There is soft morning sunshine and the old man who lives at number eighteen is out walking his Labrador. At least I’m not the only one up so early.

  I go lie back down, snuggle under the covers and into my cool pillow, and relish the heavy feeling of my comforter wrapped around me.

  Then I remember: it’s Todd’s birthday.

  I’ve got him a present, of course. I only know it’s his birthday because Callum mentioned it in passing to my dad a couple of days ago. Todd never mentioned it, but then again, I never asked.

  I’ve got him a copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, after he told me he hasn’t ever read it, and a T-shirt, and a jumbo pack of Post-It notes, which I’d seen in the supermarket and thought appropriate.

  He was surprisingly easy to buy for.

  Josh’s birthday isn’t until March. He’s so difficult to buy for. I should start thinking what I’ll get him for Christmas.

  With a sigh, I get up. I have time to straighten my hair for a change. But by the time I’m ready, it’s still only 06:39. So I have breakfast, making sure to be quiet so as not to wake Mom and Dad, but it’s barely seven o’clock by then.

  After a few more minutes, when I hear my parents begin to move about upstairs, I decide to go outside and sit on the swing for a while.

  We put the swing up when I was about six or seven, something like that. The metal poles used to be red; now they are flecked with rust and the red has faded. The ropes are frayed and weathered with age – but it’s still a pretty strong swing for all that.

  I sit down and spin myself around in a circle, the ropes twisting above me. I keep going and going and going until the ropes have coiled around each other all the way down to the back of my neck, and then I pick my feet up and spin madly around with the swing. I throw my head back and smile.

  ‘Still five years old at heart, huh?’

  I jump at the voice, and have to wait until the world stops spinning in a blur of fall colors. My eyes flit first to the door to the house, then the pat
io, and then towards the house next door. Todd leans over the five-foot tall wooden fence that divides our houses, his arms folded lazily on the top of it.

  ‘You scared me.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I remember to say.

  He grimaces – although it’s so fleeting, maybe I imagine it. ‘Thanks. My dad told you, huh?’ I nod; Todd lets out a long sigh. ‘I don’t like a lot of fuss on my birthdays. That’s why I don’t make it a well-known fact.’

  ‘Why don’t you like a lot of fuss?’ I ask, and then I bite my lip. ‘Sorry; was that a bit too personal?’

  ‘Just a little.’

  I press the balls of my feet into the ground, moving backwards and forwards on the swing without taking my feet off the ground.

  ‘I have your present inside,’ I tell him. ‘Stay there, okay?’

  I got up and rushed up to my room to get his presents. If he didn’t want people knowing it was his birthday then he might not appreciate carting presents around school.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said with a smile when I return, passing the gift bag over the fence to him. He gave me a tiny smile and a quiet, ‘Thank you,’ in return. I’m grinning eagerly as he sets the bag down, taking out the T-shirt. I love watching people open presents. I just hope he likes them.

  He chuckles at the T-shirt when he opens it. ‘No way. I looked at this just last week.’

  ‘Really? It seemed like the kind of thing you’d wear.’ It wasn’t anything special, just a blue T-shirt with the Captain America logo on. He’d mentioned he loved those comics once.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says, and smiles a little wider to me. He opens the Post-Its and chuckles again, and seems to like the book. Then he lifts his arms, dithers, and leans forward as if he’s about to grab me for a hug, but steps back. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ I laugh, and pull him forward for an awkward hug over the fence. Close up like this, he smells like Old Spice. ‘Happy birthday.’ I have to pull away because my boobs are squashed up uncomfortably at the top of the fence, but I smile at Todd.

  ‘I have to go have breakfast,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you in a while.’