Wasted Read Online Free PDF Page B

who has been well enough brought up to know that if you want to impress a girl you get rid of dirty underwear and apple cores before you invite her to your room.
    She feels suddenly nervous. Soon she will have to sing for him. He puts the drinks on a table.
    â€œHave a seat,” he says. “Catch.” He throws a cardboard folder towards her and she catches it. There are pieces of hand-written sheet music inside. She takes one out. He’s extricating a guitar from a tangle of wires. Looks like a decent piece of kit. And he’s plugging his keyboard into the amp. He clearly knows what he’s doing.
    â€œWhat does your dad do?” She’s playing for time.
    â€œHe runs his own business, at home. It’s…”
    But Jess is not listening. It’s the music she’s reading. It has caught her. She touches the notes on the page and something flows through her fingers. She finds herself humming it, not caring any more that he may be listening. She hardly knows what she’s doing, just immerses herself in the colours. For it does have colours, each blending into another, but she does not quite
see
the different tones, more
feels
them. They are deep within, where she cannot see, like tastes, melting together. They are, perhaps, nothing more than emotions, but they feel like much more. She loves it when music does this. She craves the weird letting go of it.
    As the tune becomes familiar, she can add some of the words, and her voice becomes round and whole and warm and butter rich.
    She is aware of music coming from the keyboard, joining her. There is a bassline now, adding depth to the colours, which slowly sink to the pit of her stomach and into her legs, weakening them. She wants to cry but she will not. She allows every part of her body to flow into the music and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Cold, suddenly, she feels.
    The song comes to an end. A bee is buzzing in the window. There is traffic in the distance. And the sound of surf breaking. Her mouth is dry. She takes a mouthful of her drink. Lets a long breath out.
    He is watching her. Not moving. His hands are frozen above the keyboard and she thinks he has not played the last few notes, or even lines.
    â€œHow do you do that?” he asks.
    â€œI love the song. Did you write it?”
    â€œYes, but I’ve never heard it like that. You are … brilliant.”
    His words clutch at her insides. “I love the song. Honestly.”
    He runs his finger through his hair, shakes his head, removing the spell. “Well, that’s lucky, because you could get seriously bored with it in the next two weeks. And you’ve got another twelve or something to learn.”
    Forty minutes or more later and they take a break. Jess stays in his room while Jack goes downstairs to get something for them to eat and drink. At first, she starts to work on some lines of a song, but she soon stops. She begins to grin. She lies back on the bed and spreads her arms beside her, sinking into the duvet. She could lie here for ever, but she had better not. It wouldn’t do for Jack to get the wrong idea.
    She wants to know more about Jack. Everything, if possible. Preferably not if it’s something she doesn’t like, but she will take that risk. Perhaps she has no choice, though it does feel like a choice. She gets up and wanders around the room, looking at the books on his shelves, pictures on his walls, photos in frames. There’s a photo that’s probably his mother. One of his dad with a woman, not the same woman. Pictures of the band. She looks closely at those to see what the other members are like, but she can’t judge anything from them.
    There are all the usual revision tools – books, folders, scribbled notes and lists and things that have been highlighted. There’s a list of things he’s meant to revise – nearly everything’s ticked off. Jack is clearly in control. His handwriting is