‘At least I own it, darling. I know who I am and I am not ashamed to express it.’
‘Who you are changes every few months,’ he says. ‘What’s next, an eighties phase? I’m kidding.’
‘You’re supposed to experiment when you’re young. Maybe I should go seventies next? Keep it chronological. A journey through time via personal style.’ She grins. ‘Eighties would be fun. I can invest in neon parachute pants and yo-yos.’
‘I dread the bands you will make me see then. And the bad movies, oh my God.’
‘Don’t pretend we don’t have fun. And the movies of the eighties are brilliant. John Hughes, darling.’
‘Just promise me you’ll get over the bassists.’
She offers her hand, pinkie finger out. ‘I pinkie-promise.’
‘We are not twelve.’
‘Do you want me to promise or not?’
‘Fine.’ He reluctantly takes her pinkie and they shake on it.
‘You didn’t set a timeline,’ she says. ‘So maybe I won’t get over bassists until I’m eighty. Should have been more specific.’
Spencer shakes his head. ‘You’re ridiculous.’
‘You love it,’ she says, smiling.
Her latte arrives, and she glances around the restaurant.
‘What do you reckon this latte says about who I am?’ she asks. This is a favourite game of hers, trying to figure out things about people by the food they eat at a restaurant, or their shoes, or some other outward sign.
‘It says you like lattes,’ says Spencer, very matter-of-factly. He’s not good at the games she likes to play—he doesn’t like talking that much unless it’s something that interests him, and wondering about other people’s lives is something he prefers to do in his head.
Bridie frowns and looks at a man at another table. ‘Long black,’ she says. ‘Says, “I’m a little bit bad, but still classy.”’
‘My grandmother drinks long blacks,’ says Spencer, deadpan. He’s starting to regret going out with Bridie tonight. Though her massive personality has the potential to make you forget about the realities of your life, her non-stop talking becomes irritating very quickly.
‘Your grandmother’s a bad arse,’ says Bridie. ‘All right, your turn…uh, elderly couple, both with hot chocolates.’
‘They were high-school sweethearts,’ says Spencer. ‘Every time they go anywhere, they both have a hot chocolate, like they did on their first date.’
‘That’s sweet. Do you know them?’
‘I just made that up. Isn’t that the game?’
Bridie shakes her head. ‘You don’t make up a story. You have to decide what statement that drink makes, what kind of person they are.’
‘The kind of person who likes hot chocolate?’ says Spencer. ‘The kind of person who drinks the same drink for sixty years?’
Bridie shakes her head again and then smiles. ‘Hey, is that Nina?’
Yes, it’s Nina, the girl from the vet’s. She sitting at a booth with a boy about Monica’s age, who must be her brother, and a couple who must be her parents. She’s drinking a milkshake and Spencer has no idea what that says about her, but now he wishes he did. He looks away. He doesn’t want her to notice him looking, so he can’t look again, as much as he wants to.
‘We should invite her out with us,’ says Bridie. She says it as if this is the most genius thought in the world, as if she has just invented the wheel, or fire, or sliced bread. She’s too excited, and that does not bode well for Spencer.
‘She’s at dinner with her parents,’ he says quietly, even though it’s noisy and Nina and her family are on the other side of the room. ‘You can’t go up to a stranger eating with their family and say, “Hey, you want to come out with me? You barely know me and I may very well be a psycho killer, but come and see a weird indie band that play synthesiser while covered in pig’s blood?”’
‘The pig’s blood was not literal,’ says Bridie. ‘And she’s not a stranger. The Caro had me show her around the school. She is a very nice girl, and you are just being anti-social.’
‘I only came out with you because I wanted to see pig’s blood,’ Spencer says. He wants to distract Bridie, stop her from talking to Nina. Mainly he wants to avoid saying something stupid in front of her. Why does he care whether he says something stupid in front of her? Oh God, maybe he likes her? Well, he did like her smile…Bridie will never let him hear the end of that if she finds out. Knowing Bridie, she’ll probably send Nina anonymous love letters and pretend they’re from Spencer.
‘I’m going over to speak to her,’ says Bridie decisively. She begins to get up from the table.
‘No you’re not,’ says Spencer, reaching out to stop her. But she’s already halfway across the room, striding as quickly as she can while remaining upright on those heels, her huge fluffy dress bouncing around her with each step. Spencer can’t look, but he can’t look away either.
She reaches their table. Her back is to Spencer, and he can hear her voice, but he can’t make out the words. Nina’s mother smiles up at Bridie, who is shaking hands with both parents. Then Bridie points to Spencer…and everyone turns and looks at him. He waves awkwardly. Accidentally—he’s sure it’s not intentional—he makes eye contact with Nina. She smiles. He looks away.
Oh God, Bridie
, thinks Spencer.
Why must you do this to me?
Spencer likes animals because animals don’t talk, and he likes words and books for the same reason. Bridie is practically his only friend and he’s okay with that. Because with girls he finds attractive, he’s completely inhibited.
And now here’s Bridie inviting someone out with them, someone unaware of his social failings, someone who’s going to be stuck with him for the whole night as soon as Bridie dashes off with her Bassist of the Week. Someone really attractive, unlike the bassist.
Now they’re all getting up from the table. Bridie looks to be engaged in intense conversation with Nina’s mother. What about? Bridie shakes hands with everyone again, like she’s closing a business deal, smiling broadly. Then Nina’s parents and brother are leaving, and Bridie and Nina are returning to Spencer’s table. Spencer checks his phone for messages. As usual, he has none. He pretends to text, types some random words into a message. It’s a habit he has, whenever he feels uncomfortable, or there’s an especially long embarrassing silence: he pulls out his phone and types as if he’s the most popular guy in the world.
Kill me now, kill me now, kill me now,
he types now
.
When he hears Bridie arrive at the table, he quits the message and glances up.
‘Nina loves Vampires on Bikes,’ says Bridie, giving Spencer a pointed look. ‘Finally, someone in this town who appreciates good music.’ She picks up her latte and sculls the rest. Nina smiles at Spencer and shuffles on the spot. She’s wearing skinny jeans and a black lacy top, a canvas messenger bag over her shoulder, and a jacket hung over her arm.
‘Vampires on Bikes have got nothing on Ricky Martin,’ says Spencer. He’s amazed he’s said something vaguely intelligible. At the same time he feels like a total fool. It’d probably be better if he didn’t open his mouth at all. It would
definitely
be better.
‘I’m more of a fan of Enrique Iglesias,’ says Nina, grinning. And her grin sets Spencer’s soul on fire even though he wishes it didn’t.
Bridie combs her hair with her fingers, checking her upside-down reflection in a spoon. ‘Let’s rock and roll, boys and girls.’
The bassist of Swedish Lesbian Town is, as predicted, kind of scary-looking. But he has a sort of grunge appeal, so Bridie’s attraction to him doesn’t seem entirely unfounded. Different strokes. Musically, they’re all right, in a cacophonous way.
The Soap Dish is cramped and musty, with green walls and scuffed floorboards. The dance floor is decent, but Spencer does not dance. Ever. And he’s not sure how anyone could manage to dance to this very inharmonious music. Not many people are.
Bridie shouts something Spencer doesn’t understand, then disappears towards the dance floor. The bass drum reverberates through the building. Spencer would love to pretend that he enjoys music played at burst-your-eardrum level, but all he can think about is the fact that his ears will be ringing for days after this and that Nina Pretty is standing next to him. And that her hand just brushed against his by accident, just by accident, but his spine now feels electrified.
Spencer likes girls, but only in theory. He’s convinced it would never work in practice. He’ll never be able to go out with anyone because he’s just too weird.
And the girls at his school (all mysteriously named Jessica)—just like the guys (all mysteriously named Ben)—concern themselves mostly with bitching about who is dating who this week. The high-school-dating-thing seems very little about actually liking someone and mostly about having other people envy you. The relationships turn over on a weekly basis, so Spencer doesn’t get the point. It’s the story of his life. Not getting the point. He’s always thought the image of a fish out of water applied perfectly to him.
Nina is probably yet another person he is drastically different from, like all the others who will go to university, and get married, and have children and go through life with ease, knowing who they are and what they want. All the Ninas and Jessicas and Bens of this world seem to be against him.
He’s used to feeling alone. Especially when he’s in a bar full of people with multiple facial piercings who are dancing to a distorted lullaby version of a song that was actually once good. Especially when his parents don’t even bother to ask him where he’s going when he goes out. Especially when his best and only friend ditches him for whichever bassist is the flavour of the month.
Nina wanders off to the bar and Spencer follows—even though Bridie invited her out, he will have to look after her. Is he being gross and sexist? Anyway, he’s not crash-hot at looking after anything or anyone. In Year Eight, all the Health and Physical Education students were given a bag of flour to look after. It was supposed to represent a baby they cared for. Spencer’s was named Joey. His mother ended up using half of Joey in a date loaf because Spencer stupidly left Joey on the kitchen bench. He failed the task.
‘I’ll have a Coke,’ yells Nina to the barman. ‘Do you want one?’ she asks Spencer, who nods. ‘Two Cokes!’ yells Nina. The barman hands them over and Nina pays.
‘Thanks!’ yells Spencer. Should he have paid? Or is that also sexist? How is he supposed to know these things?
Bridie really shouldn’t invite people out then abandon them with her pathologically shy best friend. When she’s around, it’s okay for Spencer to be boring and devoid of personality because she eclipses him. Bridie’s fun and an extrovert, and Spencer is just…Spencer. Spencer the future bank-manager. That’s really going to impress the girls.
‘It’s bloody loud,’ Nina yells in his ear and for a second, her breath warm against his face, he doesn’t think about his ears ringing tomorrow or the throbbing in his head. ‘Do you want to go outside?’
Spencer
Kids about the same age as Spencer and Nina are sitting in the beer garden (not really a beer garden, more of a small courtyard with a few potted plants) smoking roll-your-owns and talking about rock stars who died before they were born. It’s like they know them personally. In particular John Lennon and Kurt Cobain. No one admits to liking both, it’s either one or the other.
Nina sits on a bench. Spencer sits down next to her and taps his foot nervously. Out here the music is muffled, like the speaker has been smothered by a pillow.
‘What do you think of Bridie?’ asks Spencer. Not a great conversation starter.
‘She’s quite an extrovert,’ says Nina, and laughs. ‘I mean, she’s got a big personality. So I guess I’m surprised you two are friends, since she’s so…full-on.’ Half of her face is lit by a fluorescent light from the back wall of the building, the other half is bathed in shadow.
Spencer smiles. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘Otters hold hands while they sleep so they don’t float away from each other,’ says Nina.
‘Sorry?’
‘You told me tell you something you didn’t know. Did you know that?’
‘I didn’t. Do they sleep in the water?’
Nina nods.
‘How do you know that?’
‘I read a lot. You pick stuff up. Useless stuff.’
‘It’s not useless,’ says Spencer. ‘You’d be good at Trivial Pursuit.’
‘I’m more of a Monopoly girl myself.’
‘My dad’s a bank manager,’ says Spencer and as he says it he’s thinking
Why the hell am I telling her this? God, Spencer, were you dropped on the head as a child?
(knowing how uncoordinated his father is, he probably was). ‘So he was always the bank whenever we played Monopoly. You’d think he’d be good at it, since he’s good with real money, but Mum always won.’ He smiles at the thought of his family as they had been when he was young. When they were happy.
‘It’s luck more than anything,’ says Nina. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what is it with Bridie and the bassists?’
‘That’s a good name for a band,’ observes Spencer. ‘Bridie and the Bassists. I’ve no idea what it’s about. I’m not even sure she does. Crazy hormones?’ Spencer winces. Is he being sexist again? ‘Or maybe she’s just hoping one of the bands will get famous?’
And there’s a lull in the conversation—other people might call it ‘awkward’. ‘Awkward’ is Spencer’s permanent residential address. Then he asks possibly the most stupid thing he could ask, because he is possibly the most stupid person he knows. Hell, not possibly. Definitely.
‘Do you believe in God?’
‘Well, that’s out of left field, isn’t it?’ Nina laughs.
‘Don’t answer if you’re not comfortable.’
‘No, I’m fine with it. It’s just not a question people usually ask. Mostly it’s what am I planning on doing after school, where did I last go to school, and am I virgin…Religion doesn’t come up a lot in conversations with the sixteen-year-olds I’ve met.’
Spencer laughs. ‘I guess you’ve already gathered that I’m totally socially incompetent?’
Nina smiles, shakes her head. ‘You underestimate yourself. You’re no more incompetent than the next person, as far as I can tell. Unless the next person is me, in which case, in comparison, you’re almost as chatty as Bridie.’