Jasper Jones (28 page)

“Sassytime!”

Abruptly, we pull apart. Jeffrey Lu is making his way up the slope, beaming.

“Enough of that! Save your love for me! I earned it!”

“Hello, Jeffrey!” says Eliza, unruffled. “Congratulations! You were amazing!”

“You’re right,” he says, nodding, with his hands on his hips. “I
was
amazing. Eh, Chuck? You, er, saw me out there? Uh? You may have noticed my match-winning performance? Probably saw me score forty-three runs on debut with consummate ease, like a young Douglas Walters? Just smashing a four to win on the last ball of the game? You watched all that, did you?”

“No, I missed it actually. I turned away after your off stump flew out of the ground on your first ball.”

Jeffrey laughs.

“He’s lying!” Eliza says. “He watched every ball like a hawk.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jeffrey replies, and sniffs. “He’s got taste. He appreciates fine stroke play. When you see perfection right in front of you, you can’t help but take notice.”

I screw my face up in mock pain.

“Jeffrey, it actually physically hurts me to say this, but that really was incredible. You were really good. I can’t believe it. I didn’t even think you would get a bat. And that last shot was just
crazy.
”

“You mean the shot I played over the keeper’s head to win the game on the last ball?”

I puff my cheeks out. “Yes, dickhead.”

“I humbly accept your devotion, Charles. You know, I envy you, in a way.”

“Why?”

“Well, because, as the hero in question, I didn’t actually get to
see
the shot being played. It’s my one regret. It must have looked sensational from up here.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Jeffrey Lu, on debut!” He smiles and starts shadowboxing, short little uppercut jabs that go nowhere. Eliza laughs. He looks ready to go back out there and do it all again.

“It’s a fairy tale, Chuck! I’m practically a legend of the game. It’ll probably be on the telly. Definitely in the paper.”

“You should retire now,” I say. “Go out with a legacy.”

“Couldn’t do it, Chuck. I mean, what about my fans?” He points at Eliza.

“I’m sure the both of you will be okay.”

“Both? Chuck, you’re an idiot. The whole
world
is in love with me at the moment. It’s fact. I’m more famous than Bradman.”

Eliza laughs and leans her head on my shoulder. I tense up. I wonder how she can be so carefree about it. I don’t know. Perhaps she’s really not as shy as I’ve always thought. Maybe she’s changed this summer. Her clothes, her hair, her voice. Or maybe I never really knew her that well. She seems different, though. She’s been bubblier and livelier and more vivacious than I can ever remember. And that accent, that curious aristocratic flourish. I’ve never noticed that.

Jeffrey, no doubt sensing my discomfort, makes a show of pointing, straight-armed, from Eliza to me, then back to Eliza.

“Ease up. That’s a sin, that. What about Cheeses?”

“Doesn’t apply to us,” says Eliza, holding up her hand. “We don’t count. We’re banished anyway. Because we have penises for fingers.”

Jeffrey rears back in shock.

“
No
! You chose the penises too?”

“Fraid so,” Eliza says, smirking.

“But you’re a
girl
! And you have
penises
now! Ten of them!”

“It’s okay. Charlie doesn’t mind.”

“Of course he doesn’t! He
loves
penises!”

“Jeffrey, I’m going to kill you,” I announce, meaning it.

“Bloody hell. Pansies! Both of you! It’s just a hat!”

“It’s not just a hat!” Eliza protests. “It’s a
spider
hat!”

“The prosecution rests, Wisharrrrrt. Anyway. Chuck. Come on.
You can fiddle with each other later. Howsabout giving a hero a lift home?”

“Well, okay. But my dad isn’t here yet.”

“You’re an idiot,” says Jeffrey, turning and pointing. “He’s just over there in your car. Look. He’s been there for ages.”

I follow Jeffrey’s arm. There he is. On the other side of the oval. I had no idea. A cold fish slinks and bucks in my gut. I shift my weight away from Eliza. What has he seen? Am I in trouble? Is this an offense? I don’t even know.

“How long has he been there?”

Jeffrey shrugs. “How would
I
know? I’m not God. Though it’s an easy mistake to make. But I’ve been a little busy staging incredible comebacks and rewriting history books.”

“He’s waiting. We better go.”

Eliza squeezes my arm, clutching it secretly from behind. I wonder if this means she doesn’t want me to leave. I turn to her.

“Do you want a ride home?”

“No, no. It’s okay,” she says. I want to kiss her again.

The awkwardness resumes. It’s hard to know what to do. I feel as though I should say something profound, or enact some rite, or trade something to make it official. I want to transfer some trinket which would allow me to say that she’s my girl, some kind of currency that proves to people that she likes me back. Something that would permit me to think about her all the time without feeling guilty or helpless or hopelessly far away. I guess I’m just so excited, I want to cage this thing like a tiny red bird so it can’t fly away, so it stays the same, so it’s still there the next time. For keeps, like a coin in your pocket. Like a peach pit from Mad Jack Lionel’s tree. Like scribbled words in a locked suitcase. A bright balloon to tie to your bedpost. And you want to hug it close, hold it, but not so tight it bursts.

I wish Jeffrey would piss off. But he’s lingering, grinning, waiting to leave. I shift around slightly.

“Okay. Well.”

“I’ll see you, Charlie.”

“Soon. I mean, I hope. Yes.”

Eliza moves in to kiss me on the cheek. Of course, I misread this entirely and aim for her lips, and I manage to peck her in the eye with my nose. I murmur something, then get to my feet.

“Bye, Jeffrey! Well done!” she says and waves. She opens her book with her thumb. I feel sad to be leaving.

Jeffrey bids her a Jew and we shift off. I catch Eliza’s eye and hold it just for a moment as we leave, and it seems as good as any traded trinket, as firm as any gem in my hand.

I turn. As soon as we’re out of earshot and walking across the oval, Jeffrey executes some kind of strange cakewalk dance, his kitbag banging against his back.

“Sassytime! Sassytime!”

“Jeffrey, I
will
kill you. With my hands. I’m not lying. You’re perilously close to a tragic end to your perfect day.”

He laughs.

“You
love
her! Chucktin Bucktin! You loooove her! Wait. Who am I? Who am I?” Jeffrey raises one eyebrow and pushes his lips out like a crooner. “Do you, er, want a ride home?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“
You’re
an idiot! I
saw
you!
Kissing
! With your
mouth
! Disgusting!”

I have to smile.

“You’re just jealous.”

“
Jealous
? Chuck, you’re approximately
twelve
times stupider than you look. I’m the town hero! I’ve just created history! Jealous?
Pffft
! No, say I. Why would I be? Superman doesn’t lay around smooching Lois, he’s got shit to do! Just like me: I’ve got games to save!”

“I’m sure if Superman had the choice, he’d take some sassytime with Lois over a child trapped in a burning building.” I grin to myself.

“Chuck!” Jeffrey groans with outrage. “Cheeses
Christ
! You’re not functioning as a human. I don’t even know where to start. I’m offended. You’ve
actually
offended me. You could hand me a turd in a jar and it
would be less offensive than what you just said. It’s technically blasphemous. Cheeses hates you, Charles. I want you to know that.”

“It’s true, though.”

“Sorry? Come again? You really
are
a communist? Comrade, you’ve had your brain sucked out through your lips. You’re not thinking straight. The Man of
Tomorrow
doesn’t care about
girls
. It’s fact. Unless they’re in mortal danger. And even then they’re just a pointless decoy while Luthor prepares to take over the Free World. And that’s barely even a distraction for Superman. He
always
chooses to save the world before Lois. And that’s the way it should be. Personally, I wouldn’t even bother going back for her.”

“But you’re a maniac.”

“True. But I’m a pragmatic maniac. Listen, Charles, and you might just learn something. Lois Lane is more trouble than she’s worth. How many times has she imperiled the world just by needing to be saved? Take one for the team, I say. Let her go. Call Luthor’s bluff. Actually, Superman should kill her himself. Give her a solid burst of heat vision. Bang. No more stupid moral dilemmas.”

“You’re insane. This is why you’re not a superhero.”

“Perhaps, Chuck,” Jeffrey agrees. “But I’m still the People’s Champion.”

We laugh and bumble along. I take an opportunity to turn and steal a glance at Eliza. She’s still there. The girl with a book under a tree. I feel the strangest, queasiest sensation. I’m full of energy. I want to run toward her and away from her at the same time.

Every instance in my life, I’ve felt like the exact opposite of Superman. Except this time, this moment right now. I don’t care. I don’t feel like a weak, insipid sissy. Because right now I know I would save the girl. I know that I would rather risk the planet than let harm befall Eliza Wishart. I would save her in a second. Because I can imagine her and me huddled safe together while the earth falls under evil designs, but I can’t imagine the world without her in it.

I smirk to myself. I don’t give a shit if I’m not Superman. I kissed Eliza Wishart.

***

Jeffrey flings himself into the backseat, scooting into the middle. I sit in the front.

“Congratulations, Jeffrey,” my dad says, watching him in the rearview.

“Did you see the game?” Jeffrey demands.

“No, sorry, mate.” My dad dips his head with mock regret.

“Foolish!” Jeffrey announces. “You missed the event of your life! It was like David and Goliath, but this time, David was Asian and unbelievably good-looking. And there was no cheating. Turn on the radio, they’re probably talking about me!”

We crackle out of the car park, kicking up blue-gray dust from behind. I take a last look at Eliza, still under the tree. I think I see her wave, so I turn and show my hand as discreetly as I can. I hear Jeffrey whisper
“Sassytime!”
from the backseat. I want to hurl him from the car. But then I spin my head toward my father.

“Wait. How did you know Jeffrey won the game if you didn’t see it?”

“Chuck, it’s practically impossible
not
to hear about it,” says Jeffrey, leaning in.

“I am starting to get that feeling, yes,” I say to him.

My dad laughs to himself.

“Actually, I caught up with Pete Wishart on his way home. He was very impressed with you, Jeffrey. He watched the second innings from the pavilion, though I don’t know how much he saw. I don’t think he moved too far from the bar. He had a few under his belt. But he was full of superlatives.”

I am horrified.

“Wait, Eliza’s
dad
was here? I mean, he watched? Jeffrey?”

“That’s right,” he says. “And it’s okay, Charlie, he wasn’t watching anything else.”

Jeffrey starts giggling from behind me.

“The People’s Champion can still be pushed out of a moving
vehicle, you know,” I announce over my shoulder. But it just makes him laugh harder. I turn to my dad, and he winks and smiles at me in a way he hasn’t for some time. And as the wind spills in cool through the windows of our battered Holden, buffeting my dad’s comb-over ridiculously and tweaking my lips into a smile, I tell myself to relax a little. Calm down. Shrug. Because it’s summer. Because my dad still loves me. Because Jeffrey Lu finally got one back on this town. And because Eliza Wishart leaned in and gave me what I always dreamed of.

***

I can’t eat. I’m buzzing and roiling. I push my food around my plate listlessly and recount Jeffrey’s heroic tale without the drama and tension it deserves. Either way, my mother’s not listening.

“Less talking and more eating, please.” She wags her finger at my cold sculpted mashed potato. I sigh. I really can’t eat it. I look down at the bland, pasty goo. It’s not food. It’s that pallid gunk you repair walls with, or use to seal rusted pipes. And regrettably, I’ve run out of passably tasty items to blend with it.

I look to my dad, who returns my gaze levelly. He raises his eyebrows. I understand. I blast the stucco mound with an alloy of condiments and get it down as rapidly as I can without complaint. Once it’s gone I know that he’s right. It really
is
easier this way. I even compliment my mother on the meal. In a way, it feels like a victory.

Later, with my mug of sweetened Pablo in my room, I think about my dad. It’s as though we’re on equal footing again, like something has shifted back into place.

It seems to me that perhaps he knew I was lying that night. He’s not an idiot. He must have smelled the liquor, he must have known I was drunk. He must have seen my dirty clothes, my red eyes. And he’s seen me lie before. I remember the way he frowned down at me. I don’t think he believed me for a second.

So when he saw me sitting with Eliza today, I think it might have confirmed some crucial part of my story, or enough of it to have him
trust me again. Just enough to know my lie wasn’t as flagrant as he might have thought. That I might not have told the whole truth, but enough of it was in there.

I wish Jasper Jones would come round tonight. I don’t know why, but I want to tell him about Eliza. That I kissed her. That she kissed me.

***

He came to my window twice when I was detained. The first was a few days after it happened. He turned up late and full of apology. Whispering, I told him I’d been grounded and I couldn’t come out. Jasper kept saying he was sorry, that it was all his fault. He said he should have brought us back sooner. I did my best to allay his misgivings, but I feel he left that night heavier than he’d arrived, harried by guilt.