Eight Reasons Why I Kissed Hayden Beaufort (Part 2/8)

#2: A BURST OF TEEN REBELLION

Hopelessness wasn’t an emotion that I was used to seeing in Eugene. He was one of the most stubborn, pigheaded people I knew, especially when it came to his music, so the despair in the slump of his shoulders was not only foreign, but alarming. Eugene would never, never let anything happen that would endanger Pugnacious Dogma – but then, I would never had imagined Eugene cutting his hair short, or wearing his uniform properly either.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as I got up and crossed my room.

“Fixing things,” I replied, and began rummaging around for my phone. I could feel Eugene’s eyes taking in my movements as I opened draws and lifted papers, trying to remember where I’d left it.

“How?” Eugene’s look of total defeat suddenly made sense as I remembered the gig on Sunday. It was forty-eight hours away – almost exactly. Desperately, he said, “Freddie’s an idiot, he’ll come round, won’t he?”

“Yep.” I pulled my phone out from where it had fallen into my sock draw, and tapped in my password.

“Why am I worried that you’re about to do something stupid?”

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound calm. Rational. I didn’t want Eugene to think I’d lost it, mostly because with every movement I was doubting that my plan would work. “But I’m calling Freddie, and convincing him to stay in the band.”

Eugene looked sceptical. “And then?”

“If he doesn’t agree over the phone, I’ll convince him in person.”

“You don’t have to do that for me, Liv.” Eugene stood up and came over to stand next to me. I looked up at him, my finger hovering over the DIAL button. He seemed bizarrely tall, this close – a fact that I’d never noticed before. Growing up, I’d always been taller than him – taller than pretty much everybody – and it had only recently begun to dawn on me that this was no longer the case. I was by no means short, but my height had gone from being a defining characteristic to being nothing out of the ordinary. Part of me resented having to look up to make eye contact, and I’d be lying if I said that I’d accepted the change in height difference with anything resembling good grace.

“I’m not. I care about the band as much as you do,” I said, not sure if it was the truth, and trying to return the intensity of his gaze. That made twice today he’d tried to out-stare me, and I couldn’t help but ask, “What’s going on, Eugene?”

“Fre-“

“Not Freddie,” I cut him off. He’d been avoiding my questions all day, and I was sick of it. “Stop bullshitting me, you’ve been acting weird all day and, believe it or not, I’ve noticed. So tell me what the problem is.”

“There’s no problem,” he said. “There was, but not anymore.”

“Really?” I scoffed. “Because it looks like there’s a problem, or you wouldn’t have been in such a shitty mood all day.”

“What do you want me to say, Liv?” He shook his head and looked at the floor intently, before jerking his head back up to look at me. “Fine. They told me I’d get expelled if I didn’t straighten out my act. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“Expelled? It can’t be that bad.”

He sighed, the intensity of his gaze replaced by a numbness as he said, “You’re only in one of my classes, and to be honest, Maths is probably the only subject I’m decent at, and I’m barely passing. Everything else I’m practically failing and all my teachers hate me.” He paused, and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He didn’t seem to be entirely aware of the action, so I placed my hand over his, and he continued, “So my parents got a letter yesterday, and if I muck up again I’m out.”

I didn’t have a clue how to respond to this. I knew that Eugene didn’t get the best grades, and that he gave his teachers a fair bit of attitude, but I never figured that it’d be enough for the school to kick him out. I grimaced in a way that I hoped looked sympathetic, as I searched for the right words. It was the kind of serious that I never imagined was applicable to my life – expulsion had always seemed like an empty threat, the kind of thing that happens to the hypothetical bad boy, or someone in a friend of a friend’s older brother’s year level. It was a thing of rumours and school legends, not something that pertained to Eugene. In my mind being expelled only ever happened if someone wreaked some major havoc, or got arrested, or was caught with plans to build a secret meth lab in one of the science buildings, and having bad grades just seemed so normal that if it hadn’t been for Eugene’s unblinking expression, I’m not sure whether I would have believed him. I certainly didn’t know how I was supposed to react to his confession, so I broke his gaze, dropped his hand and turned back to my phone.

I knew Freddie wouldn’t answer if I called him. Freddie was many things, but he wasn’t completely dim-witted. I didn’t have a plan, not exactly, but I doubted that I’d be able to convince him not to abandon Pugnacious Dogma quite so as easily as a phone call. I considered this for a moment, then tapped the Messages button.

need 2 talk 2 u, I wrote, and sent the text.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Eugene asked.

I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t feel like the right thing to say, and I could tell that Eugene was expecting to hear something else, something more thoughtful. It was startling clear, the difference between the old version of my friend and the newer one, and I’d been so thick to think it was just because of a haircut.

It was unbearable to think that this might be a permanent change, so I drew Eugene into a hug. He buried his face in my hair, his breath warm against my neck and let out a sigh – soft and barely audible, and the most despondent noise I’d ever heard him make. Aside from his stubble, rough against my cheek, there was no difference between this hug and the countless others we’d shared in all the years we’d known each other, but this one felt like it mattered, like letting go would cause some major shift in our destinies. It was an irrational thought that, logically, I should’ve shrugged off the moment it occurred to me. Even still, I shut my eyes and clung tighter to his shoulders.

When my phone trilled, its shrill ringtone cutting through the silence, I reluctantly pulled back. The screen read FREDDIE ATKINS. I didn’t want to answer it. I wanted to go back into the moment that the ringing of my phone had disrupted, but instead I smiled apologetically at Eugene and slid the green answer button across the screen.

“I’m not rejoining the band,” Freddie said as soon as I answered.

“Hello to you too,” I replied frostily. “And how did you know I wasn’t calling to yell at you for breaking up with Audrey?”

“Because you’re not Tahlia.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped. Freddie’s tone was edgy, and as about as close to defensive as his personality could let him muster. As much as it confused me that he had actually called back, and so soon, there was something gratifying about the absence of his usual smugness from his comments. As much as his insinuations stung – just because I wasn’t as close with Audrey as Tahlia was didn’t mean I didn’t care, and there was nothing I could’ve done by going to see her, anyway – I couldn’t deny the satisfaction of him at least experiencing some degree of regret when it came to screwing over Eugene and Theo – and Audrey, of course.

“Nothing.” Over the phone line, I could hear the beating reverb of a steady beat, throbbing bass and electronic riffs. It sounded like the kind of dance music that I couldn’t bring myself to listen to; an endless, repetitive beat with only a few words as poor substitutes for lyrics.

“What?” I pressed. As much as I was sure that it was just a defensive jibe, Freddie’s words had an undeniable ability to get under my skin.

“Liv, forget it.” Freddie sounded dismissive, and when he spoke again, his his words were drowned out by the shrieking laughter of a girl and the deep oohntz oohntz of the music in the background.

“Come again?”

“It’s a bit awkward,” Freddie began, “I, um, lost my wallet, so I can’t get the bus home.”

“So what?” I asked, as I moved over to my bed and sat down. For a moment, Eugene stood frozen beside my dressing table, before joining me and resting his head against my shoulder. As much as I resented Freddie, I was almost glad to be talking to him, instead of trying to decode Eugene’s state of mind.

“My parents don’t know I’m out, and they’ll kill me if they find out,” Freddie said, “Could you come and get me?”

“So my parents kill me instead of yours killing you?” I replied.

“Come on, they don’t get home till, like, midnight at the earliest. I’m right, aren’t I?” My silence must have confirmed his assumption. It wasn’t exactly something I could deny, anyway. The fact that I barely saw my parents over the weekends was a pretty well-known fact, but I couldn’t say that I’d ever consider exploiting it any further than blasting my music or eating ice-cream straight from the tub. Rebellion just wasn’t a thing that had really occurred to me, and in a matter of seconds, the cogs had started turning in my mind. And because of Freddie of all people. “It’s, like, eight o’clock now – you’ll be here and back by the time they get home.”

It was possible. More than possible, hypothetically, but I was still reluctant. “Maybe. But why would I do you a favour?”

“Cos I’ll play the gig on Sunday night if you do.”

“Thought you weren’t coming back to the band,” I said, and instantly regretted it. What was the saying? Never look a gift horse in the mouth. I bit my lip and hoped my snarkiness wouldn’t be enough to make him change his mind.

“I’m not.” I couldn’t tell what the tone of his voice was. Between the music in the background, the not-so-great connection and his knack for being unreadable, I was struggling to gauge his mood. “But I’ll play Sunday, then leave, if you come and get me.”

“Fine.” I exhaled. “But you owe me one.”

“Understood. I’ll text you the address. See you there.” Freddie hung up, and I lowered my phone. Eugene lifted his head from my shoulder and looked at me, his eyes full of questions.

“Is he coming back?” he asked.

“Yep.” I smiled wryly, and Eugene’s face lit up. I raised an eyebrow. “You really didn’t manage to eavesdrop on any of that?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “You have the volume really low. And maybe Theo was right when he said my hearing sucks.”

“I think ‘shite’ was the word he used, actually,” I said, standing up. I grabbed my purse and keys from my dressing table and a bag from under my bed. “And I’m thinking he had a point.”

“Are you going somewhere?” Eugene asked, and shot me a look of confusion.

“Freddie agreed to play Sunday if I went and picked him up. Apparently someone nicked his wallet.” I threw my purse into my bag as my phone vibrated. Freddie’s name and an address on the other side of town flashed up on the screen.

“And you’re just going?”

“Yeah, I am.”

Eugene stared as I adjusted the straps on my bag. I stood in the doorway, and he said, “Liv…”

I turned back. “You can’t change my mind. I’m going. Besides, it’s the right thing to do, anyway.”

“God knows what kind of place he’s at,” Eugene said, still sitting on my bed, his dark jeans a stark contrast to the white doona. “It’s probably dangerous, and your parents-“

“Not changing my mind,” I reminded him, and walked out into the hallway. When I reached the front door, I wondered if I should leave some kind of note, just in case I did get into trouble.

“Liv, wait.” Eugene’s footsteps thudded down the hallway behind me. “Think for a moment.”

“I did.” I opened the door and turned to face him. I was lying, plain and simple, but there was an undeniable rush of exhilaration at doing this. Sneaking out. “Lock the door on your way out?”

“Liv!” Eugene called. I walked down the driveway, tuning out his voice. A distant part of my mind marvelled at the fact that I hadn’t even hesitated to do this. I was the good kid, the trusted daughter – not the girl who secretly took advantage of her parents’ absence and ran off to god-knows-where on a Friday night.

I glanced backwards, just briefly, and saw that he was standing in the doorframe of my house, but he wasn’t making any move to chase after me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to follow me, either to dissuade me or to join me, but I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t. Either would involve some kind of confrontation, and I knew that Eugene’s loyalty only stretched so far.

“Olivia!”

Even the sound of my full name, the last weapon in Eugene’s arsenal – that he would use, anyway – wouldn’t be enough to stop me tonight. I suppose I could have been thinking all sorts of grandiose things, but the loudest thought in my head was this:

I really hope I have enough change to get us both home.