A Thousand Perfect Notes(7)

Interesting? Try disaster.





If Beck gets to the preschool early –

If August forgets –

If the world ends –

But Beck has never been lucky, and, even after his bolting for the preschool at breakneck speed and hustling Joey out in record time, August Frey is waiting for them at the gate. ‘Hey, Beck!’ She waves broadly in case Beck forgot or something.

He wishes.

Joey spies August’s lanky arms knotted over the fence and gives Beck’s hand a sharp tug. ‘How did you get a girlfriend, Beck?’

Beck is microscopically offended. ‘What do you mean “how”?’

‘Well, you’re a boy and boys are gross,’ Joey says.

Beck wrestles with the preschool gate – the childproof latch is also adultproof due to rust and lack of funding. ‘She’s not my girlfriend. She’s – we’re – it’s for school. So don’t yap all the way home, OK?’

But the second they’re free of the preschool’s boundaries, Joey snatches her hand free of Beck’s and struts straight to August. ‘Why are you Beck’s girlfriend?’

He’d like to disappear right now.

For an only child, August is surprisingly not patronising to little kids. She doesn’t squat or pat Joey’s head. Instead she points to Joey’s blue macaroni necklace and says, ‘I like this.’ She smirks at Beck. ‘And I also like coffee and Beck just happens to smell like coffee, so I’m going to follow him home.’

Joey frowns. ‘Oh, so that’s why he tipped coffee on his head.’

Beck considers covering her mouth, except it’d earn him a kick. He adjusts his backpack straps and ploughs down the footpath, knowing Joey will follow and hoping August won’t.

‘Beck and I are working on a school project,’ August says behind him.

Joey’s gumboots slap on the uneven footpath. ‘What project?’

‘Project Make Beck Smile.’

Beck swivels, walking backwards, and smiles. ‘Done. We can go our separate ways.’

‘That was painful just to watch,’ August says. ‘You really ought to practise that at home. Alone. Where you can’t terrify small children.’

‘Ha ha.’ Beck turns away. ‘Seriously, we can work in class or – something. But not now. Bye.’

Joey breaks into a jog and catches Beck’s hand. She rarely does that these days, since she’s so Old and Capable, as she regularly informs him. Her whisper is a spittle-filled shout. ‘Is she being mean to you? You’re s’posed to tell mean people to go away.’

Beck shrugs. They’ve arrived at an intersection, so he checks for traffic – and then glances to see if August is still there.

He could’ve sworn the twitch on her lips was amusement.

‘I’ll help.’ Joey clears her throat. ‘Go away, Schwachkopf!’

‘Whoa.’ August raises an eyebrow. ‘Did the preschooler just swear at me in German?’

‘No, she only called you a moron.’ Beck takes Joey’s hand and charges across the road. ‘That’s unkind, Joey. Feel free to do it again.’

But August dashes after them and arrives on the kerb with a bounce, as if no German insult could knock the smile from her lips. If only Beck was so resilient.

‘So warm,’ August says, ‘so kind. It’s lovely hanging out with the Keverichs.’

Imagine letting her meet his mother.

Discussion fades as they walk. August doesn’t press possible topics for the essay, but she walks blithely, like she’s hanging out with a real friend. Beck doesn’t know how to handle this. He’s done his best to scare her off without being too rude. But shouldn’t acting like an icy jerk be enough?

As they cross the playground, littered with smashed beer bottles and homeless squatters, August informs them that she didn’t know about this good shortcut home. If by ‘good’ she means ‘utterly terrifying since who knows when someone’s going to pop out a knife and demand money’ then sure, Beck says she’s welcome for the tip.

He feels embarrassment at his dumpy street where no lawns are mowed and the neighbour is growing marijuana amongst the eggplants – but then he’s furious at himself. August lives around here too. She’s no privileged snob. Who knows? Maybe her parents are weed-smoking hippies who are barely present in her life. He knows nothing about August.

And he’ll keep it that way.

To be safe.

With a hoot, Joey dashes towards their sunken little house. One window is boarded, and the letterbox is a plastic bucket with a rock in it since someone actually stole theirs. Who steals letterboxes?

August peers at the house curiously as Joey wrenches open the door and disappears inside, hollering, ‘I’M HOME!’

How does he say goodbye-and-you’re-never-coming-in?

‘Well, later then,’ Beck says.

‘Don’t forget I’m at eleven Gully!’ August says. ‘If you want to drop by and work. Because you’d better believe we’re going to ace this paper.’

‘Yeah.’ Beck kicks at the footpath where a slab of concrete is missing. ‘I’m sorry, I – I am. But. It’s just not going to work. I’m sorry about your mark, but Mr Boyne won’t dock you if I suck.’