Cloudwish (12 page)

chapter 24

Before she and Billy
parted company, he to the gym, she to rehearsal with Polly, who played cello, he said, ‘I've got a little plan to mess with the collective minds of the staff.'

‘What sort of plan?'

‘It involves a bit of photography.'

‘I'm on a scholarship. I have to behave myself.'

‘Don't worry. I'm the perp. I'll do the time. I just need someone with a good camera to direct me.'

‘It's a likely “no”, but talk to me later.'

‘Are you going to watch Miro at lunchtime?'

She generally preferred to spend lunchtimes reading, but since Lou was Miro's lead singer, she had planned to make an exception. ‘Yep.'

‘I'll catch you there.'

Polly looked at her, wide-eyed, as Billy gave Vân Ước's hand a goodbye squeeze and left. ‘Since when has that happened?'

Vân Ước shrugged. ‘I know.' She shook her head, no less mystified than Polly.

Unravelling knots in the Handel grand concerto – in G minor for two oboes, two violins, cello strings and continuo, the focus of their rehearsal – was a welcome break from the strange new world of Billy-likes-Vân Ước.

As soon as they finished, as she stretched her neck, wiped her oboe, pulled it apart and packed it inside its case, she felt the weird new excitement bubbling up in her chest. How was this going to play out? What would the limitations on her new-found charm be? Was there an expiry date? She couldn't even revisit
how the hell was this happening?
It was too much to get her head around. It did not bear scrutiny.

Now that Billy had pinpointed the exact moment of noticing her, his sudden fascination could logically come down to one of two things. Either her wish had come true, or jumping up and down in front of someone you liked could create an instant attraction where none had existed before. Neither scenario seemed remotely plausible.

She was honest enough to admit to herself that in planning to enjoy this, at least for a little while, and going with the wish theory, she was saying yes to living a probable big fat lie: Billy was being duped. For once the joke would be on him. It was simply too tempting, and too intriguing an experience to forgo. But she had the horrible feeling that this would be akin to her childhood habit of saying yes to the giddy thrill of the playground whizz-around, despite knowing for sure that afterwards she'd feel sick, stagger, and fall.

At lunchtime she headed for a spot under a shady tree to see the year eleven band, Miro, who were just finishing their sound check for the lunchtime concert. She couldn't see Billy yet, so that gave her a chance to experiment. Would he find her and come to her?

‘Taken,' said Tiff coldly as she was about to sit down, not even very close. ‘Sorry. We're minding spots.' It was amazing the way these girls managed to say ‘sorry' in a tone that so clearly meant ‘piss off'.

She went to the next tree over and sat alone. From the stage, which was just an elevated paved area at the north edge of the quad, Lou gave her a little wave, and she waved back. A knot of tall boys emerged from the Kessler wing and mooched towards the trees. They stopped near where Tiff had saved space. A couple of them sat down, but Vân Ước saw Billy looking around. He smiled when he saw her and headed straight over, throwing himself down next to her. At least six sets of eyes from the next tree along stared in disbelief and frank hostility. She knew exactly what they were thinking. He's
our
friend. What is
our friend
doing with
her
?

She let herself have a moment of triumph, looking back at them.
Taken. Yeah, that's right, me, I've taken Billy. From you. He's choosing me.
This was like being in a formula that was being chemically altered. The next thing she saw was Sibylla virtually dragging Michael, with whom she'd been sitting on a bench, over to her.

‘Hi,' Sibylla said, glaring at Billy. She sat herself down between Vân Ước and Billy, a squeezy small space to settle in, and left Michael standing, looking uncomfortable and bemused.

‘Dude,' said Billy. ‘Are you going to sit? You're kinda blocking my view.' Michael sat down hastily and started opening his package of sandwiches.

Miro was playing their warm-up-the-audience opening number, something thrashy. Vân Ước was grateful for the musical distraction.

Billy was looking at her with regret – their brief time together intruded on. Sibylla was giving her a significant look:
I've got your back, sister
.

And Michael decided now was as good a time as any to ask her a detailed question about their calculus assignment. They had to have the exchange at high volume because of the music.

Sibylla shushed them saying, ‘Would you listen to Lou? She's amazing.'

The four of them sat, eating lunch and listening, for the next three songs. Any time Vân Ước glanced towards Billy he was looking at her. Sibylla, in turn, was looking suspiciously at Billy looking at Vân Ước. She'd have to tell Sibylla and Lou the landscape had changed. What would they make of it? She barely believed it herself. Plus, she didn't really know what ‘it' was.

The band ended the set with a cover of the Vance Joy song that had been everywhere a couple of years earlier. Their version had a bit more of a trance vibe than the original, and Lou's melodic, wide-ranging voice suited the song beautifully. She sang the line about a girl running down to the riptide. Vân Ước let herself lie back on the grass, plant herself into the heart of the song, and be that girl, the girl who inspired dreamy lines in pretty songs.

Just as Billy was her fantasy real boy, the lead singer of that band was her fantasy celebrity. She hated the official clip for the song that featured a clichéd victim-smudged-makeup-woman, but she'd watched a live version on YouTube until she knew it by heart. She knew the water bottles, the little furry monkey, the Howard Arkley portrait of Nick Cave.

She imagined herself in that student house – it didn't matter if was real, or if an art director had dressed a set: it was real to her. She'd hung out in that room, at dim parties with good loud music that made the neighbours shout over the fence, and fairy lights strung on the walls merging through open windows with the stars strung across the sky, and people not caring, and caring too much, and drinking cheap wine, and breathless kisses in dark hallways.

She loved Vance Joy's voice. It gave her goosebumps. One day she might even get to see the band live. Meanwhile, she'd enjoy those parties – as an artist, she fitted right in – in that room in her imagination.

She was still in a delicious half-doze when Billy got up, stretched, and said, ‘Party's at mine on Saturday, after the regatta. Welcome, any friends of Vân Ước's . . . etcetera.' He was looking at Sibylla and Michael.

Vân Ước took his outstretched hand and stood up.

‘Only, Holly will probably be there . . .' he added, looking at Sibylla.

‘Who?' Sib asked coldly.

‘Come if you want to. I guess if you can avoid each other at school, you can probably manage it at my place, too.'

‘You'll come, won't you?' Billy said to Vân Ước. ‘I know you can't make the regatta, but you're not working at night, are you?'

‘I don't know if I'd be allowed,' said Vân Ước.

‘I'll be there,' said Sibylla, looking Billy in the eye with a mildly threatening manner. ‘If Vân Ước goes, I won't be far away.'

‘Go-od,' said Billy, apparently unsure what he'd done to deserve such stern looks from Sibylla.

It was lovely that Sibylla was prepared to protect her at Billy's party, particularly because it would involve social contact with her former best friend and now, surely, least favourite person in the world, Holly.

‘Whatever's going on, I will see it,' Sibylla added.

‘Cool,' said Billy, understandably a bit confused by Sibylla's intensity.

As the bell for the end of lunch blared, Billy whispered into Vân Ước's ear, which gave her an unexpected little shudder of pleasure, ‘Meet me in the common room after last period.'

chapter 25

The afternoon of calculus
seemed to last for about a week. Vân Ước popped into the girls' toilets adjoining the locker room for a quick mirror check before heading to the common room. She arrived a few seconds before Billy, relieved to see only a few stragglers collecting things left from earlier in the day or killing a bit of time before being picked up.

Billy came in and swept them out. ‘That's all, folks, thanks for coming, see you tomorrow – show's over, room's taken.'

She was bemused at the willingness of people to do as Billy told them. No one protested or even showed any resentment; they accepted the alpha presence doing what he did best: getting his way. Leading.

She recognised a notebook jammed between two cushions on the corduroy-covered sofa as Michael's, and picked it up. He was a great absent-minded leaver of stuff.

When everyone was shooed away, she expected that Billy might turn to her and throw his arms around her, and the whole soft focus, swelling orchestral score would happen.

But he had something else in mind. ‘Have you got your camera?'

She was never without it, just one of the reasons her backpack was always so heavy. As she dug it out, Billy flicked through his phone's photos and showed her a series of images.

It was the security office's panel of CCTV screens. Quite modest, just four screens that rotated through images from the various cameras positioned around the school. Two screens were for interiors, and two for exterior views.

‘You and I are going to shoot this room, from that angle' – he pointed at the image of the common room – ‘and make a print we can stick up there, in front of the camera.'

‘So it looks like the common room is always empty?'

‘Yeah, stop them spying on us, and get our privacy back.'

Vân Ước couldn't help smiling. ‘
I
can't do it. If I get caught I'm in huge trouble. Scholarship students
must demonstrate exemplary behaviour at all times
.'

‘Like I said, I'll take the blame.'

Now he kissed her. Now, when she was unprepared and unguarded, he leaned forward and kissed her gently, and it felt like a question she'd been waiting to hear for the longest time. She opened her lips and her mouth to his, touched one hand to the side of his face, and wondered how it would be possible to live another day in the world that didn't include kissing Billy.

He broke away from the kiss, hands still holding her upper arms, took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily. He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers. ‘Wow. I wasn't going to do that till Saturday night,' he said.

‘You had a kiss-plan?' she asked, breathless, amazed that words still tumbled out in order following the reinvention of the world.

‘Of course I did. It's the only reason I asked my parents if I can have people over on Saturday.'

‘I'm still not sure if I can come . . .' she said, falling into the gulf between what his parents might see as normal, acceptable behaviour, and what her parents might see as normal, acceptable behaviour.

She felt tired and defeated in advance at the acrobatics in reasoning and the half-lies that she might have to tell in order to reassure/deceive her parents into allowing her to go out just for one night. ‘I don't like my chances. But I guess I can help with this.'

Based on the image on Billy's phone, it was obvious that it just needed to be shot from the security camera's POV with a long depth of field, sharp focus and tonal clarity. Simple.

Billy had brought in a tall ladder from the cleaners' cupboard in the hallway outside.

She set the camera for him. He climbed up, photographed the room, with their bags out of shot, and climbed down for her to check it. A couple more attempts and he had the angle and focus looking right.

‘So long as no one was looking at the screen when you took the photo, you're all sorted. I'll send it to you tonight.' She packed her camera away, tucked Michael's notebook in after it, slung her backpack on her shoulders and said, ‘I think you're late for training.'

‘Shit.' He folded the ladder and headed out with it, kissing the tips of her fingers as he left.

Michael hurried in, frowning as he crossed paths with Billy. Seeing Vân Ước alone in the common room, his frown deepened. She could swear he knew about the kiss and the rule-breaking.

‘This?' she asked, pulling his notebook from her pack.

‘Thanks.' Michael's momentary relief at having his notebook back didn't distract him from a speech he obviously had prepared.

‘It's none of my business – what I'm about to say – but I have decided to say it anyway.'

‘You're wondering what's going on with me and Billy?'

‘I can see that he conforms to a general consensus of what
constitutes “handsome”, and he's undoubtedly one of the most popular guys in the year, for what that's worth . . .'

‘But . . .'

Michael looked at her – his kindness and generosity at speaking out when they really didn't have that sort of friendship made her eyes prickle with tears.

‘You know the “but”: he's a self-centred idiot. And I can't see a happy ending if someone like you gets involved with him.'

‘Like me – how?'

‘Someone smart. Someone not of his world. Someone lacking the essential superficiality of his preferred companions.' Michael smiled apologetically. ‘If you can forgive the cliché: I'd hate to see you getting hurt.'

Here's where Jane might boldly have defended her choice of a partner, pointing out that while the world thought one thing about him, she saw another side to his character. But Vân Ước just said, ‘Thank you.'