‘“You guys”?’ he says, sounding amused, I think, and maybe a little annoyed.
‘Yes, you guys. People with money. Aren’t there special schools with secret handshakes?’ I wave my hand at his room. ‘Places where you can live out your Hogwarts fantasies for real?’
Joshua stares at me for a long moment. Then he bursts out laughing. ‘After all this time, I still can’t tell when you’re serious and when you’re giving me shit.’
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I think I may be a little drunk on my own daring. ‘I am both serious and giving you shit,’ I say silkily.
Joshua flops backwards on the bed, bare feet dangling over the end. He’s still chuckling. ‘You make us sound like the Lannisters.’
‘Well, your house does have more than two storeys. And a turret. You are one incest-cousin away from being a Game of Thrones character.’
Joshua laughs. ‘I would so be the moron who gets beheaded in the first season.’
‘Turns out, far too much has been written about great men and not nearly enough about morons,’ I say distractedly. Narda leaps off my lap and pounces on Joshua’s dancing fingers.
He sits up again and shakes his head. ‘And she quotes GoT,’ he says under his breath. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever not be surprised by you, Sophia.’
I let my eyes wander again. One of his bottom shelves is stocked with old biographies, ancient-looking books bound with leather and gold. I reach above my head and slide out a random volume. The cover is a turn-of-the-century poster of a white guy in a turban, sepia-tinted, like the kind I’ve seen in his locker.
‘So what is it with you and these historical guys? Why don’t you have any biographies of Criss Angel or Cyril Takayama or David Copperfield –’
‘Um, excuse me?’ he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His eyebrows are making a valiant effort to climb into his hair. ‘Since when are you interested in magicians?’
Even though I feel my face get warm, I refuse to be embarrassed for conducting an elementary investigation. ‘I met you. I googled things. You talk a lot, and I don’t always understand everything you say. So. Research.’
He shakes his head, smiling. ‘Wow. I’m flattered?’
I turn the book over, my eyes skimming the photo on the back. ‘Don’t be. I’m curious. What is it about these classic guys that you like? Or maybe I should ask what it is about the newer guys that annoys you so much?’
He takes the biography from my hands. ‘It’s hard to explain. I guess it’s because I like the stuff from a time when the thing was skill alone? Like, when there was still all this awesome stuff to discover, stuff that people had never seen done before. Those TV guys, the big Vegas dudes with all the expensive sets and tigers and stuff? No ordinary person can do that. It’s too … big. And they just keep making it bigger, and more and more flashy and professional – you know, you get run over by a steamroller or make the Statue of Liberty disappear live on telly –’
‘Hey, I saw that on YouTube. That was sort of impressive.’
‘I know, right?’ he says with a sigh. ‘But, like, where do you go from there? What kid who’s learning how to execute a perfect Double Lift card trick or something would even bother …’ He tucks his legs beneath him, sitting cross-legged on his bed. ‘I sound like a tool,’ he says, drumming his hands on his feet. ‘I just mean, once something’s been done, bigger and better than you could ever hope to pull off, why would you even try … why would you bother starting if you knew you were always gonna fall short …’
I stare at him. ‘Okay.’
He looks up, his fingers stilling. ‘That’s it? No counter point? No pep talk?’
I shrug, my hands suddenly prickly. ‘No. I just … no.’
Joshua reaches distractedly for a worn deck of cards. He flutters them through his fingers, his eyes focused on nothing I can see.
I watch his hands. ‘You’re ambidextrous?’
He looks down. ‘Sort of. I was mostly left-handed when I was a kid, but then I trained myself to use my right, so I guess …’ He grins, faintly. ‘Well, mostly, I think I had too much time on my hands.’
I rotate, slowly, in his chair. When I turn back to face him, he seems to be observing me extra closely. I plant my feet and stop myself spinning.
‘Sophia Reyhart. You’re in my bedroom,’ he says quietly.
‘Stellar observation,’ I mumble. More unexpected heat warms my cheeks.
He unwinds his legs and leaps up. ‘We should get going,’ he says, slipping a black waistcoat over his shirt and his feet into grey Chucks. He reaches for the trench coat and hat that are hanging behind his door. He pauses, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘Are you sure you’re ready?’
I straighten out my dress and zip up my jacket. I’m almost tempted to say no – there’s something nice about being in this space, something calming and almost flannel-pyjama comfortable.
‘Sure thing,’ I say brightly.
Joshua holds his door open, and I reluctantly step out – and almost barrel into a scowling girl in black tights and an oversized T-shirt. Her face is set in that fierce look of undirected annoyance I’ve seen pubescent kids brandish so well.
‘Damn. Busted,’ Joshua says under his breath.
The girl’s make-up-heavy eyes travel over me. Her mouth curves into a slow grin.
‘Joshie,’ she purrs, leaning against the wall and giving me a once-over that feels like it’s scouring my skin off. ‘Look who’s being a sneaky little alley cat. Are Mum and Dad aware you’re entertaining lady-guests in your boudoir? You do know those condoms they gave you with the puberty talk have probably expired, yeah?’
An indignant flush creeps up my face. This girl can’t be more than thirteen, and she looks like a tiny, depressed elf, only with the measured voice of our middle-aged Latin teacher.
Joshua angles himself in front of me. ‘She emerges from her cavern, spreading sunshine and cheer,’ he says dryly. ‘Do we need to have a talk about appropriate guest-conversation again, Gillian?’
She brightens in a way that makes her seem infinitely younger. ‘The secret is not having bad manners or good manners, but having the same manner for all human souls,’ she says, in an accent that I think is supposed to be English. She also, bafflingly, does a little jig.
Joshua looks like he’s trying really hard not to laugh. ‘Okay, Eliza Doolittle. Stay real. Is it too much to ask that you, I dunno – don’t talk about condoms in front of my friend?’
‘What can I say? I’m precocious,’ she says, deadpan.
Joshua turns his back on her and gives me a pained smile. ‘I would apologise, but I should probably save the proper grovelling until I see how much damage she does,’ he says in a mock whisper.