The Sound (17 page)

Mr Miller is there on his own, thank God. I explain my predicament. He smiles at me. ‘I have to stay here and man the stall but I’ll have someone come and fix it,’ he says and
pulls out his phone.

‘OK, thanks,’ I say and tell him where I’m parked.

I head back to the bike and sit on the pavement next to it and take out my iPod. I am hoping and simultaneously not hoping that Jesse will come, my heart and my head and my quiver parts
can’t coalesce or decide on what they want, so when he does appear, strolling nonchalantly around the corner as though he’s taking a turn down a catwalk, my insides feel like
they’re attached to a bungee cord being operated by Eliza the evil puppet master.

Jesse Miller stops in front of the bike and glances down at me.

‘You know,’ he drawls, ‘if you wanted to see me you didn’t have to go and destroy a perfectly good bike. You could have just called me up and asked me to meet
you.’

My jaw drops open. I blink at him, unable to fashion thoughts into words.

‘What?’ I eventually say. ‘You think I did this on purpose?’ I struggle to my feet, indignant, and point at the bike.

He starts laughing and I feel the colour rising in my cheeks.

‘I was just kidding,’ he says. ‘I know you can’t have done this on purpose.’

I relax slightly.

He glances at me sideways. ‘For a start I don’t think you even know what this is,’ he says, indicating the chain, ‘let alone how to remove it. Am I right?’

I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Absolutely.’

He grins at me. I can’t help smiling back. There’s a moment of silence where we stand looking at each other and it’s as if he’s waiting for something so I say,
‘I’m sorry about the other night. Um, thanks for the note.’

‘No worries,’ he answers under his breath.

‘And thanks for painting the trailer,’ I add, as he drops to his knees in front of the bike. ‘It was really sweet of you. You made a little girl very happy.’

He glances up at me. ‘I wouldn’t call you a little girl. You’re a pretty grown-up girl. Almost a woman, in fact.’

I close my mouth and look away, trying not to let my heart go fuse-balling around my ribcage. God. Why does he have to flirt with everything with a pulse? I clench my fists and take a deep
breath, reminding myself that he does it because he knows it has an effect. It’s all a game to him. So, I tell myself, I need to act like he has no effect on me whatsoever. I stare back at
him, giving him a variation of the Megan look, and it takes every ounce of willpower in my body to hold his gaze. He doesn’t seem at all fazed by the Megan look. On the contrary, he seems to
find it amusing. That usual half-smile is playing on his lips again, as though I provide nothing but endless entertainment. Like I’m the flesh and blood version of his favourite comedy
channel.

‘I’m glad it was the right one. I was worried for a second,’ he says. It takes me several seconds to realise he’s talking about the bike trailer.

‘How did you guess?’

‘Your bike was next to it.’

I watch him as he reattaches the chain to this cog thing.

‘So,’ I say, ‘you can draw dragons, play guitar and fix bikes. Anything you can’t do?’ I ask, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth I regret it.

He looks at me over his shoulder. ‘What can I say? I’m good with my hands,’ he answers deadpan, fixing me with this look that tells me in a million graphic ways what else
he’s good at doing with his hands.

I try not to look at his hands but they’re all I can see as he spins the wheel to check the chain.

‘Why was Parker looking for you earlier?’ I ask to change the subject.

His hands still. He catches the spinning wheel and turns slowly to look at me. ‘What?’

I bite my lip. ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I thought your dad would have said something.’

His eyes are blazing. He stands up. ‘Parker? He was looking for me? You’re sure?’ he asks. His whole body is coiled tight, tensed. His shoulders are rolled forwards, his
expression fierce. I catch a glimpse of the Jesse Miller that beat Tyler Reed up, the Jesse Miller that Sophie warned me about, the Jesse Miller I also saw the other night in the car.

I nod and take a small step backwards.

‘What did he say?’ Jesse growls, stepping towards me.

‘He said you weren’t around,’ I stutter.

He frowns, shakes his head. ‘No, not my dad, what did Parker say?’

‘Just that they were looking for you and wanted to clear something up?’

Jesse grimaces and turns away, back towards the bike, knots of muscle bunching under his T-shirt. His forearms are taut. I want to touch his shoulder, have him turn back to face me, but at the
same time something about his body language and the tone of his voice makes me want to stay well out of range.

‘Is it about Tyler?’ I ask quietly.

He turns back towards me. His face is composed now, the cocky half-smile back on his lips. ‘I would guess so,’ he says.

‘Maybe they just want to bury the hatchet?’ I ask hopefully.

‘Yeah,’ Jesse says, dropping to his knees in front of the bike once more, ‘in the back of my skull.’

I sit down on the pavement beside him and pick up my helmet.

‘Why did you hit Tyler Reed?’ I ask.

Jesse’s working now on some other part of the bike, having pulled a spanner out of his back pocket. He shrugs.

‘You put him in the hospital,’ I add, when he doesn’t say anything.

‘I wish it had been the morgue,’ Jesse grunts, his mouth tightening in a grimace as he puts pressure on a bolt. ‘If he comes near me again then that’s where he’ll
end up.’

‘Jesus. What did he do to make you so mad at him?’

‘Nothing,’ Jesse says through gritted teeth. ‘I just like hitting assholes with money who think they own the town and everybody in it.’ The bolt finally comes free and he
raises the handlebars a fraction of an inch before tightening it again.

‘How very Neanderthal of you,’ I say.

Jesse shoots me a deadly serious look and points his spanner at me. ‘Shut up or I’ll hit you, throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to my cave.’

‘Wow,’ I answer drolly, ‘I totally get what all the girls see in you.’

He shakes his head but he’s smiling. ‘You know, you could watch me, you might learn a thing or two.’

‘Like what?’ I say. ‘How to be incredibly cocky, arrogant and sure of myself?’

He leans back on his haunches, the spanner dangling in his hand. ‘Did someone eat the thesaurus for breakfast? One adjective there would have sufficed. I like cocky. The way you say it has
a nice ring to it.’

I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Don’t try to take me on with sarcasm. I am the queen of it. I’ve studied it, perfected it. I come from a land where we own sarcasm and the use of it.
There is nothing you can teach me about sarcasm.’

‘OK,’ he says, grinning up at me, ‘Professor Emeritus Sarcastus. You can own the sarcasm. What I meant was you might learn how to change the chain on a bike, for
example.’

‘You mean the greasy metal thing that you just fixed for me without me having to touch it thereby rendering your suggestion kind of unnecessary?’

‘Yes, that would be the chain,’ he says. ‘But you should learn how to change it nonetheless because one day I might not be around to come to your rescue.’

I sigh and glance down at the bike. ‘I have to touch it to change it,’ I say.

He considers me for a beat. ‘No. You can sprinkle magic pixie dust on it if you like and have it float into position all by itself.’

‘What did I say about the sarcasm?’ I remind him.

‘Come here.’ He jerks his head towards the bike.

I consider this request. It’s been delivered in a rather caveman way but nonetheless I feel myself being pulled towards him. I make a show of getting up from the sidewalk and walking
towards him as slowly as possible. He waits until I kneel down beside him, careful to leave a broad expanse of space between us.

He leans forward and does something and the chain he’s just fixed comes loose again, flopping to the ground.

‘Did you have to do that?’ I ask. ‘You couldn’t have just used gestures and pointed to show me how to fix it?’

He hands the chain to me. ‘Hold this here,’ he says. I have to inch forwards and we end up with our knees and shoulders touching and I hate the fact that my body starts going into
what feels like shock while he seems completely oblivious. ‘Pull it,’ he says, and then his hands close around mine, warm and sure, and I can’t even register what he’s
telling me to do because I’m having to concentrate on keeping my heart rate under two hundred beats a minute and my airways open. ‘Right, keep it there,’ he says, his voice close
to my ear, ‘and wrap this around the cog. No, not that one. This one.’

He finally lets go of my hands and we both stand up to admire my handiwork.

‘My hands are so dirty,’ I say, staring down at my blackened palms.

He shakes his head. ‘You’re such a girl.’

‘Almost a woman I think you’ll find.’

‘I find,’ he answers and I feel his eyes slide the length of my body.

There’s a silence. We’re standing side by side, both still staring at the bike.

A strand of hair blows in front of my eyes. My hands are too dirty for me to want to touch my face with them so I try to blow it out of my face. Jesse turns towards me and with the edge of his
little finger, the only part of his hands that’s clean, he gently strokes back the stray strand of hair and brushes it behind my ear. I glance up at him and he’s giving me this look
that’s completely disarming and one hundred per cent quiver-inducing. His hand hovers for a split second by my cheek and there’s so much electricity running through me I must be
short-circuiting whatever country sits directly beneath me on the globe.

‘So I have to go,’ I say finally, the words coming out as a stutter. I almost trip backwards, stumbling over my helmet which is lying on the sidewalk.

He does that smirking smile thing, the look he was just giving me vanishing, making me think I just imagined it.

I climb on the bike which he is holding steady for me.

‘Thanks for helping me with the bike,’ I say.

‘No worries,’ he answers. ‘See you around.’ And he gives the bike a gentle push to send me on my way.

The Reeds’ house is ablaze with lights. The party is taking place on the back lawn which is where the firework display has been set up. Carrie says that the fireworks
alone cost more than the state deficit and Mike sighs loudly. It’s already late and getting dark when we arrive.

Almost immediately we are greeted by Mr Reed. He is on handshake duty, combining them with hearty back slaps for the men and compliments to the ladies. The guy is a pro and I can’t help
but watch and admire from a distance as he meets and greets like a seasoned celebrity on a red carpet.

We line up and receive our welcome. I get a ‘Ren, great to see you’ and then we pass through the hallway where the waitresses are standing holding silver trays of golden champagne.
Does this ever get tired? I wonder? It’s hard to imagine how.

Mike hands me a glass of champagne. ‘I think you deserve one tonight,’ he says seeing Carrie’s disapproving look. ‘I mean as a consolation prize for America kicking your
ass.’

‘I think you’ll find I wasn’t alive two hundred and fifty years ago so it wasn’t strictly my ass that got kicked. But,’ I say, reaching for the glass,
‘I’ll take the prize anyway.’

Braiden is asleep in his car seat and we leave him in the den under the care of a babysitter who has been employed to keep an eye on the smaller children. I am happy with this situation. I just
have to keep an eye on Brodie but she is almost immediately swept up by several other kids who come running through the house and who drag her off to play tag with them.

I wander back into the hallway, holding my glass of champagne, feeling unsure of whether I should be working or playing. I’m in this weird limbo land.

‘More champagne?’

I spin around.

It’s Jesse’s friend Tara. She’s waitressing again tonight. Her dark auburn hair tied back in a high ponytail, wearing a black skirt to the knee, a starched white shirt with
high collar and flats. She’s holding a bottle of champagne in her hands.

‘Hi,’ I say, pleased to see her.

She smiles at me. ‘Tough gig you’ve got going here. I have to pour the stuff. You get to drink it.’

I glance guiltily at the glass in my hand.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says in a whisper, ‘we’ve snuck a few bottles into the trash. We’ll take them home after.’

I laugh. ‘How’s Austin?’ I ask.

‘Good. Did you see Jesse today?’

I hesitate. Why is she asking? I nod slowly in answer.

She smiles this knowing sort of smile that confuses me.

‘Hey,’ I say, grabbing for the opportunity while it’s right there in front of me. ‘Can I ask you something?’

She takes a deep, sighing breath. ‘You want to know why Jesse beat the crap out of Tyler Reed?’

I nod.

‘You and me and the rest of the island, Ren.’ She glances quickly around the room before lowering her voice. ‘No one knows. But that’s Jesse. That’s why we love
him. Or rather, that’s why the girls all love him. The mysterious, messed-up, bad boy with secrets. If I didn’t love him myself I think I’d have to kill him for being such a
cliché.’

I look at my feet.

‘Just don’t judge him, OK,’ Tara says, a note of anger in her voice that makes me look up. ‘Everyone judges Jesse, but I’ve known him since we were born and
he’d never hit anyone before he hit Tyler Reed. Never even been in a fight. He’s not that kind of guy. He’s the sweetest person I know.’ She smiles fondly and a little sadly
before adding, ‘So if he hit Tyler Reed, then believe me, there was a reason for it.’

I take in what she’s just told me. It fits with what my gut was telling me or at least, what my heart wanted to believe. Jesse
is
a good guy. I just need to get to the bottom of
his fight with Tyler.

‘My advice, Ren, for what it’s worth?’ Tara says in a kind voice that makes me feel even more stupid. ‘Stay away from Jesse. And that’s from someone who cares
deeply about him. You’re just here for the summer. Jesse needs someone who’s going to stick around.’