The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 5

"What about his driving?" Debbie asked during the school-wide pilgrimage from class to canteen that occurred at the beginning of the lunch hour. "Was he the slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type? Or was he more of a hare?"

"Debbie, if you ask me one more question about Jet, I swear I'll sign you up for the Ladies Book Club myself," I said. She'd been interrogating me ceaselessly all day; I wasn't even sure that she'd taken a breath. "But, if you must know, he was a very caring, thoughtful driver."

Debbie tooted. "I asked how his driving was, not how he is in the sack. You should write romance novels, seriously."

I fought back a grin and shoved her on the shoulder. It hadn't been an easy day. After what had happened in the changing rooms the previous afternoon I'd scurried from lesson to lesson like a mouse in a building full of sharp-clawed cats, terrified that somebody would recognise me. What little comfort I gained from the fact that the photograph hadn't appeared anywhere yet, was overshadowed by my refusal to look up from the ground lest my gaze fall upon Carmen and her ring of leering jesters.

It was only Debbie who'd kept me sane, and for that I felt a rush of deep-rooted appreciation. She'd acted as though everything was normal, despite her initial fury ("I'll slip some green hair-dye into her bleach and then I'll take a photo of her, see how she likes it!"), and in turn I'd pretty much managed to forget about all the other crazy stuff that was going on.

"My flair for capturing moments through words is limitless," I admitted and, as I turned back to face the direction we were heading, walked directly into Jetham Burr himself. The air lodged itself in my throat, as thick and unshifting as a lozenge.

"Whoa, sorry!" Jet reached out to steady me and his face broke into a warm smile as the recognition settled in. Next to him was a boy with a mass of thick, curly hair and spindly limbs. "Oh, Saffy! Sorry, I was just talking to - uh..."

His voice trailed off into an uncertain silence as he turned to his friend. "It's Wes, man," the boy said, and his lips parted into a lazy grin. "Like Wesley, but Wes."

"Right, uh, Wes," Jet said, his eyebrows arched. "So, how are things? You look a lot drier."

I stared up at him, my voice still wedged cosily in my throat. His hair was especially messy today, and his cheeks rosy. There was something rugged about the whole dragged-through-a-bush-backwards look.

Debbie nudged me in the ribs. I'd been openly staring for way too long; I came to with a dazed bat of the eyelids. "Oh, yeah, I'm good, I, uh- ouch!" I was cut off by another jab to the side from Debbie's weirdly pointed elbow, and suddenly realized what she was trying to communicate. "Oh! This is Deborah Pruitt. I guess you could call her my friend, or something like that."

Debbie shuffled forward in her Doc Martens. "You can call me Debbie," she said. I'd never heard her sound so gracious before. It didn't match up with the slash of red lipstick and the heavy application of eyeliner.

"Nice to meet you," Jet said. His courtesy was much more natural. "So, Saffy, did you get to talk to your boss yet?"

"What? Oh, not yet," I shook my head. I felt instantly guilty - which was ridiculous, because it was beyond my control. "I'm sorry, I haven't got a shift until tonight. I'll mention it to Bev later though, for sure!"

Jet's face glowed with delight. "Awesome, thanks! I'll get Esteban all polished up."

"Esteban?" I frowned.

"My first love," Jet grinned. "Gloria's only my second, bless her."

"You named your guitar? Do you name everything?"