Shutterspeed by A. J. Betts Read Free Book Online

actually seen a turtle there. But I guess there must be because now I’ve murdered one.’
    The bell rings and groups of students meander to classrooms. Jasmine and Dustin sit until the quad is empty of noise.
    â€˜You okay?’ he says, not knowing what else to say.
    â€˜I tried to brake but I think that made it worse. It bled from its eyes and mouth.’ She rubs at a tear on her cheek. ‘I took it to the vet. That’s where I’ve been. They gave it a needle to kill it. It looked at me when I picked it up off the road. It was trying to tell me something.’ Her eyes lock on Dustin’s. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
    â€˜I guess so.’
    â€˜Can you?’
    He shrugs. ‘Yeah.’
    â€˜There was another one, the size of my palm. It was still by the edge of the road. It wasn’t hurt.’
    And with that she lifts up her school shirt. A thick bandage is wrapped round and round her waist, and in the centre there’s a bump.
    â€˜What else could I do?’ she asks him, hoping for an ally.One of the corners of the pouch moves, and from a slit a small flipper scrapes along the soft skin of Jasmine’s stomach.
    â€˜I couldn’t leave it without a mum. It wouldn’t survive.’
    â€˜I did.’ The words just slip out.
    She winces. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
    The lesson ticks on.
    â€˜You okay now?’ he asks.
    â€˜No … yeah.’ She instinctively rubs the hard shell with her fingertips.
    He slings his backpack over his shoulder and heads off towards physics and the certainty of formulas.
21
    When he unchains his bike from the shed and cycles away from school, it’s with the intention of being alone. He rides along the esplanade and up to the cinema, where he locks his bike and buys a ticket for the next screening. It doesn’t matter what the film is, so long as it’s not about a teenager who has a wanker for a father, a save-the-wildlife chick as a best friend, and a mate with more testosterone than sense. Fortunately it’s a black-and-white silent comedy about a time-travelling inventor.
    After a half hour it’s easy to relax into the fantasy of the film, letting everything but the screen fade away. In the darkness of the cinema Dustin is inconsequential and the outside world can’t touch him. But a sudden movement in the eleventh row — a flick of short hair — brings reality sharply into focus.
    It’s her.
    He’s sure of it. Even in silhouette she’s unmistakable. Terri Pavish sits five rows ahead of him, eight seats to the right. She wears a denim jacket and she’s alone.
    He doesn’t find out what happens to the inventor. He spends the next hour unable to drag his eyeline away from the crown of her head and the sharp cut of her hair halfway up her neck. If she senses his gaze, she doesn’t turn around to acknowledge it. Does she know he’s there? Can she feel it?
    The film drags on, and with each minute his fixation becomes more acute. He can trace each line of her with his eyes. He tries to work out if she’s enjoying the movie or not, equating each movement — a drink from a water bottle, the recrossing of her legs — with a thought, a feeling. He wonders what she’s thinking. He wants to know how long she’s had the jacket, and if it was a gift from someone. He wonders if she’s got her camera with her in her bag, a photojournalist always prepared. He thinks about what’s ledher to be here, at this movie on a weekday afternoon. Is she, too, seeking refuge?
    He can see the movie reflected in her red helmet on the chair beside her. The helmet is shiny and slick and he understands what he’s drawn to — the speed of her, that liberating speed with which she moves, jettisoning clues as she goes. She doesn’t belong to just one place — she’s as slippery and anonymous as he wishes he could become.
    Terri Pavish leaves