The slam of the boathouse door echoed off the water and the whole structure shook.
‘Whatever happened to keeping things on the down-low?’ Richie protested.
‘I’ve got a song for you guys,’ I said as I unpacked my guitar. ‘I only started it tonight, so it’s rough, but I think it’s actually pretty good.’
Without any further introduction, I plucked out the opening bars, hearing their richness reverberate in the boathouse. And it was only then that I realised I was about to play a song I’d written about Carter to Carter. I’d been so excited at having finally dragged a song out of myself that I hadn’t thought about how it would feel to play it to its subject. Would he guess? Worse – would he think he was my muse? My blood was pumping so hard I thought it might escape through my blistered fingertips. But it was too late to back out now, so I squared my shoulders and started to sing.
He’s always single but he’s never alone
He’s got a million girls saved into his phone
If he’s ever lonely he just calls up and sees
Who’s ready to tango with King Cutie
When he asks, he asks so easily
Steps up fast and moves in close to me
And I reply, I know absolutely
I’m with him, and he’s King Cutie
Heat rushed into my face and my hands cramped on the strings. What was I thinking, writing a song about a guy in my band? But I pushed on, hoping it was dark enough in here that they wouldn’t notice how red I was.
He was built for chasing tail
Almost undefinably male
He’s got the words, they always work
One cocked eyebrow and an arm’s-length smirk
Sam held his crossed drumsticks in one hand like he’d forgotten they were there, a smile splitting his face. Richie seemed more interested than I’d ever seen him. But I was too embarrassed to meet Carter’s eyes.
When he asks, I answer physically
I’m with him, and he’s King Cutie
And when he leaves, he does so freely
Can’t tie him down, he belongs to nobody
When I came to the bridge I stopped and finally looked at Carter, expecting him to sneer, but his expression was similar to Sam’s.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘That can’t be it?’
‘That’s as far as I got,’ I said.
Sam took my guitar and strummed out a bar as if he’d known the song his whole life. ‘How about this? If you try speeding up the tempo a bit, it’ll make it more of a warning.’
‘What’s this word?’ Carter had my notebook. ‘You might ...?’
‘Resist,’ I said.
‘You might resist, but soon you’ll see, it’s hard to say no to King Cutie,’ he read. I ran hot. Hearing my lyrics without the safety net of the music, the rhyme seemed as forced as a jingle.
‘What about this: You might think you’re different, but soon you’ll see – it’s always a good time with King Cutie.’
I watched as he made the changes on the page. He had the thickest lashes of any boy I’d ever met. As though he could feel me looking at him, he glanced up, and I studied my hands.
‘What about this for the bridge?’ Sam said, still holding my guitar. He strummed a couple of chords, then launched into it again, slightly faster than I’d had it, and with a lick he pulled out at the end. I sang the words as he played, adding in Carter’s change.
At the party, the bar, or in the club
He’s chasing the night but it’s never enough
You might think you’re different, but soon you’ll see
It’s always a good time with King Cutie
And on the dance floor, with the bass real low
He steps up close and says, ‘Baby, let’s go’ ...
My body was humming. I cupped my cheeks in my palms, not wanting them to see how much their approval meant to me. And now that we had something good to work with, we did seem able to collaborate.
‘So, that’s one down, then,’ Carter said. ‘One more as good as that, and we’ll win Regattle for sure.’
•
The next night, Sam turned up with the skeleton of a high-energy punk track he called ‘Cat and Mouse’, and by Saturday, both songs were close to ready. I was never going to feel confident about the Regattle, but at least I didn’t think we would embarrass ourselves. Ms Marney narrowed her eyes at me when I asked for my night pass and grilled me on the details of the movie I wasn’t going to be seeing, but she gave me the pass in the end. Sam forged his old music teacher’s signature from Reading Comprehensive on the competition application form.
The night before the Battle, we rehearsed into the early morning until the songs were smooth as stones. By the time Carter finally called a cigarette break, my hands were so cramped they felt like claws. While Richie and Carter lit up outside, Sam asked, ‘So, Liliana – who exactly is King Cutie when he’s at home?’
I glanced automatically towards the door, worried Carter could hear us, and Sam laughed. It was the first warm evening since I’d arrived in England and the boathouse was humid.
‘You know what’s hilarious?’ said Sam. ‘He has absolutely no idea.’
I didn’t want to laugh, but couldn’t stop myself. The door opened and Carter and Richie whirled back in. ‘What’s so funny?’ Carter asked.
‘Shortest smoko in history,’ I said, dodging his question.
‘I only needed a quick hit.’ He threw his cigarettes into his guitar case.
‘Yeah, I’m sure you can stop anytime,’ I said.
He leaned across and put his palm flat against my forehead. ‘Shut up, you.’
I moved away. It wasn’t just that his hand smelled of tobacco. It was the easy movement, like he knew I wouldn’t flinch. It reminded me of the way he’d skimmed my blisters under the willow tree.
But it should have reminded me I wasn’t his to touch.