Shutterspeed by A. J. Betts Read Free Book Online Page B

myself.’
    â€˜Just a minute,’ Dustin tells him, rustling through packets until he finds hers. ‘My maths homework … I left it here.’
    â€˜Again?’
    â€˜Some of it.’ He lies automatically, his attention entirely focused on the address handwritten on Terri Pavish’s packet:
12 Leticia Close, Mount Claremont.
    â€˜I trust that motorcycle helmet isn’t for your use.’
    â€˜It’s a present for Nugget. It’s his birthday.’
    And with that, Dustin leaves, squeezing the helmet into his backpack on the way out. The bell above the shop door jingles as he slides the door behind him.
20
    He cycles north to Terri Pavish’s house with a tailwind that suddenly sweeps up and ushers him faster. He turns off the West Coast Highway and onto the railway path, dodging pedestrians and joggers with iPods. The smooth surface undulates beneath him. Wind fills his ears and clears his mind. He hasn’t prepared anything to say. Just to hand over the helmet will be enough.
    He turns into Amelia Road, then left into Leticia Close. He lets the bike’s momentum roll him under the eight peppermint trees that line the street. At number twelve he abandons the bike and lets it lie in the driveway, its front wheel still revolving as he bounds up the five steps. He knocks on the pale blue door. This is where she lives!
    He waits for a sound from inside. He knocks again, listening for something to signal her movement toward him.
    He waits, knocks, waits.
    And as he waits — without the roar of wind in his ears — he can hear the real world: a dog running in the street; a radio from a neighbour’s bedroom; a sprinkler; a van reversing in the next block. The sounds remind him of reality. His heart rate falls and he can feel the pull of the earth.
    Suddenly the helmet is awkward in his backpack, digging into his spine. He feels a hotness rise from his chest, creeping up his exposed neck. He flushes red. He realises she probably wouldn’t have ridden home without a helmet. She’d be back at the cinema now, or in a store buying another one. He feels stupid.
    Peering into her front window, he’s met with his own reflection in the glass. The truth of it hits him — skinny knobbly shoulders, a long neck, scruffy hair, and the fretful face of a sixteen-year-old out of his depth.
    He pulls the helmet from his backpack, places it on the top step, then leaves. He cycles into the strong headwind, impatient and angry. He’s just a kid after all.
    When Dustin reaches home he’s exhausted. He drinks water quickly, refilling the glass twice but it doesn’t satisfy him. The house is empty of Ken, but even so the thought of his father sends him to the sanctuary of his own room.
    He turns off the light and stretches out on top of his duvet. His feet hang off the edge of the single bed, suspended in air. Everything here is too small for him — it’s a bedroom for a child. In the darkness, he feels the walls contract and the ceiling hover right above him. Tonight, there’s not even enough space to dream.

P ERSPECTIVE
19
    He’s barely awake for the ride to school in the morning. Often it feels that way — like he’s still sleeping while cars and pedestrians part quietly without waking him. Today’s like that.
    He buys an egg muffin from the canteen and feels some of its energy seep into him.
    Mr Jose is late to form class again, so Shania takes the opportunity to power-trip.
    â€˜I trust you’ve been practising your high jump, Dustin,’ she smiles.
    â€˜Bite me.’
    â€˜Blow me. I’ve entered the nominations and they’re printing the program as we speak. So buck up, lanky legs,you’re doing the frosby flop for Shenton House next week.’
    â€˜You can kiss my frosby —’
    â€˜Forget it, Dust, she’s not worth it,’ Nugget tells him as Mr Jose settles into his chair at the front of the room.