A Thousand Perfect Notes(21)

‘I eat,’ Beck says, defensive.

‘My dad would take one look at you and try to fatten you up.’ August shakes her head, smiling.

It’s strange to Beck how she mentions her parents offhandedly, lovingly, like they don’t rake her over the coals on a regular basis or spit out how much they loathe her.

‘You’ll meet them when you come over,’ she says.

‘What?’

‘Oh, you will eventually. I know these things.’

Beck resists the urge to catapult out the door. Why does August make him want to run and stay at the same time? How come he can’t muster the energy to truly get rid of her? Because she pays attention to him? Because she laughs instead of seethes at his snarky quips? Because she’s buying him cake?

The last one. It’s the last one.

A server swishes out of the beaded curtain carrying a tray that looks like it was made from an old crate. He has long dark hair that hangs to his shoulders and tie-dye fisherman pants that balloon so much they look like a skirt. But his shirt says Hate On Me And I’ll Punch You, which kind of throws the chill vibe.

Beck wisely decides not to hate on him. Ever.

‘Yum, thanks, Morris,’ August says. ‘It looks delicious.’

A violent hippy named Morris?

‘Anything for our favourite August.’ Morris sets plates and mugs down and smiles crookedly. ‘Not going to snitch, but skipping school …’ He tuts. ‘Dude.’

‘I know, I know.’ August turns into a pathetically adorable puppy dog. ‘But just look at my friend – he’s practically starving to death.’

Morris squints at Beck. ‘Well, he looks your type, I guess.’

‘Um,’ says Beck.

‘You know,’ Morris says, ‘pitiful and starved.’

‘Thank you, Morris,’ August says. ‘Goodbye, Morris.’

‘All right, all right.’ He shrugs, tucks the tray under his arm and ambles back to the kitchen.

‘How many pitiful and starved boys do you bring here?’ Beck says, slightly strangled.

August spins her plate as if the cake will taste better from a specific angle. ‘Shut up and eat, Keverich.’

Beck pokes the cake with his fork. It doesn’t look indigestible – but he is used to Joey’s cooking – and it appears to be stuffed with nuts and dried fruit. The drink has a thick creamy froth with cinnamon dusted on top. It smells like … not chocolate or coffee. What is it supposed to be?

What has he gotten into?

August has already tucked into her cake with a few moans of deliciousness.

‘So,’ he says, forking up cake and staring at it, ‘am I eating Steve?’

‘It’s stevia.’ August licks her fork. ‘An alternative for sugar. But don’t say that S word here.’

Beck’s too hungry. He stuffs the cake in and mumbles, ‘Is there a swear jar in case I need to say – holy shit, what is this amazingness?’

August tips back her head and laughs.

Beck abandons the fork and just picks up the cake and takes a mouthful. It’s like fruitcake but also almonds and also small explosions of chocolate and the occasional chewy date. He’s never tasted anything so good and dense.

‘I could eat, like, nine pieces,’ he says with his mouth full.

‘I knew you’d like it.’

‘Actually –’ Beck licks his thumb ‘– you totally doubted.’

‘Fine. I did. But I was going to punch you in the face if you didn’t.’

‘Really? So you secretly wanted me to hate it so you could live that dream.’

August puts her elbows on the table and points her spoon at him. ‘You have such bad self esteem, it’s kind of sad but still adorable. The truth is, I tried to bring my friends here and they …’ She sits back in her chair, face clouded. ‘They were pretty rude about it all.’

‘That sucks.’ Beck only has half his mind on the fact that August maybe doesn’t fit with her friends like he always thought, and half on the fact his cake is gone. ‘I would never be rude, of course.’

August snorts, but she slips from her chair and disappears back into the kitchen. She returns with another slab of almond fruitcake, bigger than before.

Beck remembers to thank her, but then he has to concentrate because a clump of chocolate has melted in the centre and he needs it all in his mouth. Right now. This is so much better than a bite of fluffy sponge cake. This cake glues to his ribs.

The drink – a dandelion latte, August explains – isn’t as delicious, but he still drinks the entire thing and probably would’ve taken a refill. Or ten. Maybe he did like it? Maybe he likes everything. Maybe this is why August is so happy. Cake! And coffee – well, um, whatever-it-was! On a regular basis!

‘It could be a little sweeter, though, don’t you think?’ Beck says – at the wrong time, since Morris walks out of the kitchen to wipe another table.

The stiff look says he offended Morris.

‘I’m sorry,’ Beck whispers to August. ‘It’s just the tea had that something-is-dead-in-here vibe, you know?’

August punches him. ‘You’re uncultured. But we’ll build up slow. Today almond cake, tomorrow turmeric broth and alfalfa patties.’