that – crap! Sorry."
I've died, impaled on the spiny teeth, my corpse spewing great fountains of blood as the boss lurches around, trying to find S'bu's punky schoolgirl.
"Don't worry, I'll reload." S'bu pulls up the menu and instantly skips tracks on history back to a moment when we were both alive and well.
"Wish they had a 'restore saved game' for the real world."
"Tell me about it," he snorts.
"What point do you wish you could go back to?"
"You first."
"The moment before I got my brother killed."
"Heavy," says S'bu, but I can tell he's impressed. And this is what I've come to, breaking out my worst personal tragedy to pry open a teenager. If I hadn't already hit my ultimate low, this would be a close contender.
"And you?"
"Before we signed."
"That's the worst thing that's happened to you? Seriaas?"
"I dunno, maybe we should have signed with someone else."
"Odi's a pretty intense guy."
"Yeah."
"Rehab must have been really shitty."
"Yeah." He squirms. "It's more like his philosophy? It's worse than straight-edge. Like, there's no fun at all."
"You seem to be doing okay."
"Yeah, right," he rolls his eyes up at the thumping noises coming from above. "That guy needs to take a chill pill, you know? Maybe literally."
"You think you would have got where you are without Odi pushing you?"
"Nah, man, I appreciate that, it's the keep-it-clean crap. I'm fifteen, yo. We're not little kids anymore. And I'm not even that bad. Songweza's the one who lands us in the shit the whole time."
"Where do you think your sister is?"
"I dunno. Jolling with her friends?"
"Any friends in particular?"
"Hey, what's this interview about, anyway?"
"The band."
"'Cos it sounds like it's about her."
"Can I level with you?" I say, jumping into the abyss.
"Sure."
"I've been hired to try and find your sister. The interview is just a cover."
"Fuck!" He flings his controller across the room. It narrowly misses the TV and smashes into the wall beneath the katana. The back pops off, spraying batteries across the floor.
"I'm just being honest with you."
"Oh, now you're being honest with me? So all that other bullshit was just, just… shit?" He looks like he's about to cry.
"No, I've really been to rehab. I really killed my brother," I say calmly.
"Whatever. Hey, lady, ever occurred to you maybe Song doesn't want to be found?"
"Or you don't want her to be found?"
"You are one whacked crazybitch. What, like I… I killed her or something?"
"Did you? No. I don't think that. But if she ran away with her boyfriend or whatever, it sounds like you wouldn't mind so much if she didn't hurry back."
S'bu shakes his head. "Lady, we have an album about to drop." He grabs a jacket slung over the back of the chair and heads towards the door, wiping at his eyes. "Where are you going?"
"Same place as Song. Out."
Sloth swats my arm in reproach. Like I meant to make the kid cry.
He storms out of the house, past Mark and Amira, who are sitting on the stairs, clearly listening in.
"And screw you guys too."
He slams the door.
"Didn't go so well, then, sweetie?" Mark says. His Dog pants happily, mocking.
"I've had worse interviews." This is true. The time I rocked up high to interview Morgan Freeman, for example. "You still trashing the place, or can I take a look?"
"Knock yourself out."
"Interesting ploy, the journalist," Marabou says, stroking her Bird's shrivelled head.
"You'd be amazed at how people open up when they think someone cares. Listen, don't wait up. After this, I'm thinking of taking in a round of golf. I'll expense a cab home."
Maltese sneers. "One day on the job, and she's too good for us."
I watch them out the door and then set to
I've died, impaled on the spiny teeth, my corpse spewing great fountains of blood as the boss lurches around, trying to find S'bu's punky schoolgirl.
"Don't worry, I'll reload." S'bu pulls up the menu and instantly skips tracks on history back to a moment when we were both alive and well.
"Wish they had a 'restore saved game' for the real world."
"Tell me about it," he snorts.
"What point do you wish you could go back to?"
"You first."
"The moment before I got my brother killed."
"Heavy," says S'bu, but I can tell he's impressed. And this is what I've come to, breaking out my worst personal tragedy to pry open a teenager. If I hadn't already hit my ultimate low, this would be a close contender.
"And you?"
"Before we signed."
"That's the worst thing that's happened to you? Seriaas?"
"I dunno, maybe we should have signed with someone else."
"Odi's a pretty intense guy."
"Yeah."
"Rehab must have been really shitty."
"Yeah." He squirms. "It's more like his philosophy? It's worse than straight-edge. Like, there's no fun at all."
"You seem to be doing okay."
"Yeah, right," he rolls his eyes up at the thumping noises coming from above. "That guy needs to take a chill pill, you know? Maybe literally."
"You think you would have got where you are without Odi pushing you?"
"Nah, man, I appreciate that, it's the keep-it-clean crap. I'm fifteen, yo. We're not little kids anymore. And I'm not even that bad. Songweza's the one who lands us in the shit the whole time."
"Where do you think your sister is?"
"I dunno. Jolling with her friends?"
"Any friends in particular?"
"Hey, what's this interview about, anyway?"
"The band."
"'Cos it sounds like it's about her."
"Can I level with you?" I say, jumping into the abyss.
"Sure."
"I've been hired to try and find your sister. The interview is just a cover."
"Fuck!" He flings his controller across the room. It narrowly misses the TV and smashes into the wall beneath the katana. The back pops off, spraying batteries across the floor.
"I'm just being honest with you."
"Oh, now you're being honest with me? So all that other bullshit was just, just… shit?" He looks like he's about to cry.
"No, I've really been to rehab. I really killed my brother," I say calmly.
"Whatever. Hey, lady, ever occurred to you maybe Song doesn't want to be found?"
"Or you don't want her to be found?"
"You are one whacked crazybitch. What, like I… I killed her or something?"
"Did you? No. I don't think that. But if she ran away with her boyfriend or whatever, it sounds like you wouldn't mind so much if she didn't hurry back."
S'bu shakes his head. "Lady, we have an album about to drop." He grabs a jacket slung over the back of the chair and heads towards the door, wiping at his eyes. "Where are you going?"
"Same place as Song. Out."
Sloth swats my arm in reproach. Like I meant to make the kid cry.
He storms out of the house, past Mark and Amira, who are sitting on the stairs, clearly listening in.
"And screw you guys too."
He slams the door.
"Didn't go so well, then, sweetie?" Mark says. His Dog pants happily, mocking.
"I've had worse interviews." This is true. The time I rocked up high to interview Morgan Freeman, for example. "You still trashing the place, or can I take a look?"
"Knock yourself out."
"Interesting ploy, the journalist," Marabou says, stroking her Bird's shrivelled head.
"You'd be amazed at how people open up when they think someone cares. Listen, don't wait up. After this, I'm thinking of taking in a round of golf. I'll expense a cab home."
Maltese sneers. "One day on the job, and she's too good for us."
I watch them out the door and then set to
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