‘And you are?’ Edie interrupts, leaning over me to Will, her hand outstretched.
Will ignores her, and makes her way back into the crowd.
‘How rude.’ Edie is about to say something else when Beth yanks at my arm.
‘I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’ Her voice is sharp with fury. ‘You could have told me from the start about James. I’ve just seen him pashing some guy beside the stage. Apparently they’re together. If I’d known I wasn’t in with a chance I would have arranged a proper date for tonight weeks ago. Instead I’m lumped with Millie’s dopey brother.’ She points to Kurt Levine, who is standing behind her struggling to remove his middle finger from the neck of a beer bottle.
It takes me a minute to work out what Beth is talking about. Then I remember. I never shored up that introduction with James, Arthur’s keyboard player, as I promised I would. With all the drama, it slipped my mind.
I say to Beth, ‘But I didn’t know about James!’
Beth scowls. ‘Like I’m going to believe that. You lot always stick together.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
The high-pitched reverb of a microphone draws everyone’s attention to the stage. Arthur stands at the front, microphone cupped in hand, surveying the crowd. He looks amazing up there. In his make-up, under stage lights, my pale-skinned, bow-legged brother looks wiry in the best possible way. Even the airstrip on his scalp has a certain charm to it tonight.
Seeing him standing there, the crowd begins to whistle and hoot. I try to ignore the bad energy zapping off Beth. With a deep breath, I take the atmosphere of the room into my lungs.
At the foot of the stage, Natasha is taping the mike cords to the stands. Arthur gives her a wink.
Beth leans towards me again. ‘Don’t tell me Ning Nong is bonking your brother!’ she says with delighted disgust.
I pretend I haven’t heard her. Then I change my mind. ‘Don’t call her that,’ I hiss.
She laughs. ‘What? Ning Nong?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Please don’t say it again. Ever.’
Beth stops laughing. ‘What’s got into you?’
I grit my teeth. ‘It’s a racist thing to say, Beth.’
She says something that is impossible to hear above the noise.
‘What?’
‘I SAID YOU’RE NO FUN ANYMORE. I SAID I SOMETIMES FORGET WHY WE EVEN HANG OUT.’
‘IT’S NOT ABOUT FUN. IT’S ABOUT BEING A DECENT HUMAN BEING,’ I shout back.
Beth mutters something beneath the noise.
The whistles die down.
‘Hi everybody,’ says Arthur as James and Bill take their places behind their instruments. ‘Thanks for having us. And on behalf of Amelia Westlake, WELCOME TO YOUR YEAR-TWELVE FORMAL.’
The crowd explodes. Someone starts up a chant.
Amelia, Amelia, Amelia.
People join in. I look around, electrified. I try to spot Will among the sea of people, but I can’t see her anywhere.
Arthur signals for everyone to quiet down.
‘We’ve got a very special set for you tonight.’ Arthur paces the stage. ‘Those of you who know our music will know we’re rather fond of clashy, head-banging tunes.’ He tilts his head coyly. ‘But we hear you guys like to dance.’
‘Hell, yeah!’ calls someone from the crowd. Laughter erupts.
‘That’s why tonight we’re mixing things up a bit, with a very special guest. Where is he?’ Arthur steps back and nods to someone offstage.
I wonder who Arthur is talking about. He hasn’t mentioned a special guest to me.
He steps forward again. ‘This guest of ours,’ he continues, drawing out the suspense, ‘is a man of enormous talent. He’s played the Enmore. The ICC. The Opera House. When he heard about your situation, and how tonight’s venue change had been organised in protest against some narrow-minded wankers –’ (more predictable cheering) ‘he was especially keen to be involved. He is, after all, a man who believes in love in all its forms.’
The crowd grows loud with chatter about who it could be.
‘May I present to you …’ Arthur shouts above the noise. ‘The one. The only. Front man for Australia’s hottest hip-hop outfit, DOKTOR D.’
Doktor D comes out to an explosion of hooting and whistling and runs up to James at the keyboard. Leaning over the instrument, one leg flipping theatrically in the air, he plants a kiss on James’s mouth. The crowd goes crazy, with the exception of Beth, who shouts in my ear: ‘That’s the guy I was talking about.’
I’ve seen Doktor D perform in a line-up with The Sphere a couple of times, but as he comes towards the front and they begin to play, something about him strikes me. His costume looks a lot like the one that was sitting on the PAC storeroom shelf for all those months.
But it’s more than that. I recognise the face behind the stage make-up. He looks familiar – not just from those previous gigs, but from somewhere else.
By now he is rapping and the crowd is dancing. I register the lyrics and my spine tingles.
‘Come on.’ It’s Edie, suddenly beside me. She pulls me by the hand. ‘Let’s dance.’
I let her lead me onto the floor. This is the moment I’ve been dreaming of all year: the two of us dancing at my final-year formal. But as Edie puts her arms around me and Doktor D’s lyrics ring in my ears –
Ameli ah / the fake ah / the ultimate rule break ah / I wouldn’t wanna cross her / coz I bet she’s got my numb bah / and she’ll wiggetty jizz / all over my fizz / ain’t no-one who can take her
– everything feels wrong.
Chapter 31
WILL
It’s Duncan. Nat’s co-editor aka slave-boy-slash-coffeemaker-come-spy. Acne-scarred, short-sighted Duncan, Rosemead’s low-key Edwin Street refugee – or hostage, depending on your point of view – rapping onstage like a king. I
