You have to sing in front of all these people.
I willed my brain to shut up, trying to focus instead on the right now and working out where to dump my guitar. I spotted Darla and her new green pigtails.
“Darla,” I shouted over.
“Hi, Amelie, you alright?”
I pushed through the crowd, bashing someone with my guitar in the process. “I’m good,” I said. “I just need to get rid of my guitar. You’re playing tonight, right?” She nodded. “Do you know where we’re supposed to put our stuff?”
“Everyone’s taking it to the music block,” she answered.
“That makes sense. Thanks. So, when you on?” I asked, forcing myself to be friendly.
“Third. You?”
“Second to last.”
Darla raised her eyebrows. “Ouch. So you have the whole evening to worry before you go on?”
Her comment hit home like a throw by a professional pitcher. I laughed and it sounded like someone treading on a mouse. “Hahahahah, I know. It sucks. Thanks again.”
I said goodbye, squeezed my way out of the bottleneck, and emerged into the balmy black night. It was almost too hot in my cardigan – my grey one, with handmade thumbholes in the cuffs. I was wearing it over a light-blue tea dress and I’d plaited my hair in random sections. My phone buzzed and I couldn’t open the message fast enough. Alfie! It must be him.
Jessa: Good luck for the talent show, Granny Cardigan. Have fun freaking out beforehand and pretending to yourself you’re not going to win. That’s always been so fun to watch x
The smile I smiled was only half of one. Love her as I did, Jessa wasn’t Alfie, and that’s who I really wanted to hear from. But I sent a reply and did feel less alone and freaked out after I’d done so.
Amelie: I’m not going to win… Seriously though, thanks so much for your message. I wish you were here. Well, no, I wish I was THERE.
I lugged my guitar through the dark to the music block, where a paper sign on the entrance said Leave your instruments here.
I pushed through the door, my guitar clattering against the frame, and that’s when I first saw him.
Such a handsome face, that was the first thing I noticed. I always thought the word was only used by Disney princesses, or my gran, but that was my initial thought the second I saw Reese Davies.
Cor, he’s handsome.
He was standing with his band, but I only really noticed him as he turned to see who’d caused the clatter. His eyes clocked mine and he smiled the smile that would turn out to be the undoing of me.
“Umm, hi,” I squeaked. “Is this where I leave my guitar?”
He was tall, and his face was all angles and chin all strong with a dimple right in the middle. He was wearing a hat, indoors, but he was so handsome I didn’t even think he was a dick for doing that.
He opened his mouth to reply but Mrs Clarke appeared, looking wilty and a bit stressed. “Amelie, hi! Yes, you’re in the right place.” She reached out for my case and I handed it to her gratefully. “How are you feeling?”
“Very nervous,” I admitted.
“Don’t be. You’re going to be great.”
“I hope so.”
We hadn’t spoken yet but I was already super aware of Reese’s presence, like he was radiating a magnetic force field.
“What are you opening with?” Mrs Clarke asked me, and I talked her through my ten-minute slot while also craning to hear this boy in a hat discuss his.
He’d turned back to his band. “I still think we should open on ‘Welcome To Nowhere’,” he said, with that quiet authority that would turn out to be the undoing of me.
“Yeah, but, Reese, we agreed on—”
He smiled as he cut his band mate off with his hand. “Dude, we’re supposed to be rock ‘n’ roll, chill the hell out. We can mix up the set list. We’ve got ten whole minutes to play with, and it’s not like we’re going to get detention.” The rest of them laughed reluctantly and I watched his smile, before Mrs Clarke distracted me again with enthusiastic questions about my own songwriting process.
Now how I wish I’d just walked out of that room and kept walking, walking, walking. But I didn’t. Instead I made my way back into the refectory, found Jack and Hannah, let Jack pour a hefty amount of vodka into my Coke, and continued down this path of destruction.
You never know at the time, do you? You can never know if a moment is going to make your life better or rip it apart and piss on the pieces. What scares me most of all, Reese, is that now, back in this stuffy refectory, with my soul sucked dry and my heart beyond repair…I…I…
I still worry I’d do it all over again.
What have you done to me, Reese?
The talent show opened with a beatboxer who went on a bit too long. We found Liv in the crush – she was with a bunch of new friends from her photography class. I’d instantly found Liv to be a bit on the “intimidating” side of “intimidatingly cool” – with her cropped hair and artsy disposition – but she was friendly enough and acted pleased to see me. We all waved hello and yelled into each other’s ears to try and be heard above the dude gargling down the microphone. I let the others take on the burden of conversation-making while I stood at the back, nodding and trying not to freak out about my slot.
“It seems like such an unfair combination,” Alfie had said before my last gig up in Sheffield, kissing my shaking fingers. “That you’re so incredibly talented and yet find being on stage so incredibly awful.”
“What if I vomit?” I asked him.
“As I’ve said many times before, I’ll still fancy you,” he confirmed.
Vomiting is one of my stage-fright fears – that I will just projectile hurl all down myself. This is closely followed by a fear of peeing myself. This is closely followed by forgetting all my words and just standing there like an idiot. This is closely followed by remembering my words, but singing out of tune. This was my first gig in years without Alfie’s gentle reassurance, without him standing in the front row and nodding me along.
Why hadn’t he sent a message?
“You okay, Amelie?” Jack yelled over. “You look a bit green. Want some more lubrication?” He held out his water bottle of vodka.
I knew it wasn’t a marvellous idea, but I said yes anyway and let him tip more into my cup. When I took a sip, it tasted of almost pure vodka.
The beatboxer finished, to mild applause. The teachers judging held up scorecards of rather-generous fives and sixes. There was a dance act up next. A group of long and lean girls in Lycra hot pants leaped around the stage waving ribbons to some rap mix-up song. The night found its groove. I had another top-up from Jack. Hannah got up and performed an amazing sketch from The Vagina Monologues, which won her a few eights. I watched Jack watch her and knew my suspicions were right. I nudged him with my elbow.
“So, you and Hannah?” The vodka had made me able to initiate conversations.
He smiled blearily. “Am I that obvious?” he asked.
“Maybe just to me. I’m more of a watcher than a participant.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“I think she likes you too, for what it’s worth.”