Part 19 (1/2)

The song closes, the guitarist chucks a plectrum and the drummer launches his sticks. They spin towards the back of the crowd so that I finally, finally have an excuse to twist round and ...

... see that he's gone.

This is my chance. I should leave now, get away from whatever incredibly bad idea/fantasy kept me here. If Kaz were with me, she'd see me straight, but she isn't. She's away with Lauren, and without her to remind me of why I should be avoiding Stu, I find myself looking for him.

As I turn for the exit, I see him there, arms folded, watching me.

KAZ.

In hindsight, I'm glad that Ruby didn't come with us or she would be unbearably smug right about now.

Ivory Lace weren't great...

We're wandering the long way back to our spot on the hill, skirting the stalls that surround the Festblog ”office” that's filled to bursting with people queuing up to pose with props in the photo booths. It's nearly four, but the sun's as aggressively bright as it was at midday and there's acres of pink and brown flesh on display. The air is filled with laughter and the smell of hot skin.

Lauren's in the middle of apologizing again for Ivory Lace's poor performance when her phone goes off. ”Oh. It's Tom.”

She looks at me and I give her what's meant to be a nod of encouragement, although she's already answering.

”Hey, you.” The smile that breaks out across her face hurts my heart so much that I have to look away.

I cannot be here whilst she talks to him.

I rest a hand on Lauren's arm and point at the nearest distraction I can see the Unsigned Stage sitting on top of the hill, the white arc of the awning reaching out above the main thoroughfare with the stage tucked in the back, like an open oyster sh.e.l.l with a pearl sitting in its centre. Lauren nods that she'll find me when she's finished and I make my escape.

It's immediately clear why the band playing have yet to be signed. The lead singer's voice is too quiet and the rhythm guitar's ever so slightly out of tune which would be fine, if the person playing it wasn't also singing in several different keys. Loudly. I edge towards the front for a better view of the drummer, who seems like she's having fun at least. When the out-of-tune guitarist tells us that the next song is about someone in the audience, I look round to see if I can tell who it is by their reaction, catching the eye of the guy standing behind me. I smile shyly at the fleeting contact, then scan the rest of the faces. My eyes are drawn back to him and I realize with a jolt that he's still looking at me. Obviously my reaction to this is to turn away so fast that I hear the bones in my neck crunch. In the lull before the next (hopefully last) song, I sense someone stepping closer and hear a ”Hi”.

”Hi,” I say. It's the same boy. Thick-framed gla.s.ses, the curls of his hair making a bid to escape the confines of the cut. He's about the same height as me, so my eyes can't help but meet his. Again.

I like a boy in gla.s.ses. It always annoyed me that Tom insisted on wearing contacts.

”Out of ten?” He nods at the stage.

”That depends. Was that last song about you?”

I hear a soft chuckle, then, ”No. It wasn't.”

”Maybe a four?” Which sounds a lot harsher than I'd usually go, but the singing is verging on painful. The boy laughs a happy huff of breath, which I think means he agrees. The songs ends and we all clap, and someone in the back cheers, but I'm not sure whether that's in relief.

”Are all the unsigned bands this bad?” I can't think of anything else to say to keep him talking to me it's refres.h.i.+ng to find I want him to.

”I hope not or the world will run out of new and exciting music.”

There's an awkward silence, in which my phone starts ringing.

It's Lauren.

”Um. I've got to go,” I say. ”Nice to meet you.” But I'm deliberately slow answering and the phone rings out.

”Nice to meet you too.” He has a warm, easy smile and I like him more for it. ”Although I'm not sure it counts as 'meeting' unless I find out your name.”

”It's Kaz.” I omit the usual ”short for Karizma with a z” and hold his gaze as long as I dare before I start smiling at the ground like an idiot. I am very out of practice at noticing boys. And talking to them.

”Sebastian.” He nods and I nod. ”I think you should come back here in” he looks at his watch ”one hour and thirty-seven minutes.”

”Here?” I repeat, because I'm confused.

”Here.” And he traces a firm cross in the dusty ground with the toe of his boot. ”I've heard some pretty good things about the band playing then, definitely better than a four.”

”One hour and thirty-seven minutes?” My smile feels different. Flirty, possibly, and I start walking backwards before it blows up in my face and I come out with something weird, like ”Nice gla.s.ses!” the kind of compliment that sounds more like an insult.

Sebastian looks at his watch then up at me. ”One hour and thirty-six.”

And he matches my smile as I moonwalk my way into the suns.h.i.+ne, before I turn to hide the ma.s.sive grin that's breaking out on my face.

I set the timer on my phone for one hour and thirty-six minutes.

RUBY.

The game is on.

Neither one of us has mentioned last night, or our moment in the Grundiiz crowd. We're both playing each other now, standing by the poster-lined panels around the edge of the arena, away from the crowds.

Stu asks me to turn round so he can look at my faux-tattoo. He studies the pattern as if it's real, touching my jaw to tilt my head so he can see where the design tapers up my jugular. I wonder if he can see my pulse speeding up.

”It's cool.”

”Thank you. I think so too.”

The way he looks at me is unmistakable and he leans in close, saying nothing, watching me. Waiting. I can't stop thinking of all the things we used to do that brought us this close, my brain blocking out the fact that he gets this kind of close with a lot of girls.

Or maybe I haven't blocked it out. When it feels this good to be near him, maybe I don't care.