Camilla shrugs. ‘Not exactly. But jeez, I’ve never understood how being forced into a situation where you’re possibly going to pee your pants is supposed to make you less freaked. Do things when you’re good and goddamned ready, I say.’
I sigh. ‘What’s so wrong with living in a bubble?’
Camilla is watching me closely. ‘I know, right? Like, everyone should want to be front and centre, belting out a song at the Grammys or collecting their Oscar or Nobel –’
‘Well, maybe a Nobel wouldn’t be the worst thing –’
‘But maybe not everyone is supposed to be a superstar!’ she says, spilling some beer as she gestures emphatically. ‘Maybe some of us are perfectly happy writing music for superstars to sing.’
I stare at her curiously. ‘Then again – what’s the point in doing anything extraordinary unless other people can see it?’ She laughs. It’s light, I think, not belittling. ‘Ah, is that the whole does-a-tree-falling-in-the-woods-make-a-sound-if-no-one’s-around-to-hear-it thing? Or, like, that dude with the dead cat in a box? I never understood his whole deal. Something isn’t really a thing unless someone’s observing?’
I smile. ‘That’s … kind of accurate, actually.’
I look across the room again. Joshua is laughing at something Adrian is saying. Sam’s hands are covering his face, but he seems to be laughing too.
Joshua looks happy. Comfortable, safe in his own skin, some other, better version of himself. His hand is wrapped casually around his cup, not tapping or fidgeting or any of his other anxious tells. And even though I can’t hear him, somehow I know that there isn’t a hint of a lisp in his voice. He fits in here. The realisation makes me feel inexplicably dejected.
‘Hey,’ Camilla says softly. ‘It’s quieter out back. You know, if you need … space?’
I clutch my jacket. ‘Does everyone here know that I’m a giant freak?’
She rolls her eyes, but her smile is gentle. ‘Trust me, Sophia. There isn’t a single person here who I’d classify as normal.’
Joshua drifts back. Camilla touches my arm briefly before she walks away.
‘Okay?’ he asks.
I look around. Adrian now appears to be demonstrating some kind of Sontaran battle manoeuvre to a tiny blonde girl. The two beanie-guys from outside, now hand-in-hand, have joined them.
‘Your friends are nice, Joshua. But, maybe I could use some air …’
He leans across the space and taps Sam on the shoulder almost before I have finished speaking. ‘Hey, we’ll see you guys later, okay?’ Then he steers me towards the rear of the bar-house.
It’s darker here, the music muffled. The huddles are smaller, the conversation more subdued.
Joshua makes a beeline for an orange sofa. Beer boxes are stacked in front of it, forming a wonky partition.
‘Are you really okay?’ he asks as we sink into the soft couch, side by side.
I’m fleetingly waylaid by a vision of the damp park bench on the edge of the school grounds; I can’t explain why, but this parallel-universe situation makes me feel even more unmoored.
‘I’m fine. This is … fun?’
Joshua nods. ‘Sure. Now tell me how you really feel.’
Suspicious-smelling smoke hangs above us, so thick that if I stand, I suspect my face would be obscured by the cloud. ‘Your friends are great, Joshua. But I don’t think I make a very good first impression. Or second impression.’ I sneak a glance at him, but his face is infuriatingly indecipherable. ‘You make it look so easy. You’re good with people. I didn’t think … I don’t know why you don’t use that skill set at school.’
Joshua seems nonplussed. ‘You go there with the same people I do, right? Okay, maybe our entire year level isn’t made up of douchebags, but most of them aren’t interested in people like us.’ He shrugs. ‘Why would I waste my time?’
My brain flickers over the ‘people like us’ comment, but I’m not sure what to do with it. Instead, I lean backwards, the couch doing its best to swallow me whole. Joshua mirrors my posture, long legs stretched out. He is doing that thing he does, watching me without expectation, waiting for me to reply.
‘How had I been at school with you for so long and never heard you speak?’ I blurt. ‘Clearly you’ve mastered the whole talking-to-strangers thing. You don’t ever seem to run out of words.’
Joshua laughs. ‘Most of the time that’s just patter.’
‘What?’
‘Patter. You know.’ He turns on the couch and crosses his legs. I lean against the smelly cushions, tucking my feet sideways. A crisp deck of cards materialises in his hand. He taps it against his knee, then proceeds to shuffle it in an elaborate move that I recognise from my research as a riffle shuffle.
‘Okay, so, it’s like this,’ he says as the cards flutter through his fingers. ‘The most difficult part of close-up magic is managing your audience’s attention. Unless you’re one of those stage dudes who relies on a half-naked assistant or some doped-up tigers or whatever – and I think you know how I feel about them – well, you only have a couple of options.’
He holds the deck flat in his left palm and cuts it cleanly in half with the fingers of the same hand. The two halves pivot around each other, expertly guided by just his fingertips. Then he uses his index finger to flick one half of the deck up. The Queen of Hearts’ severe face peers out at me. ‘One – you can use your hands and movements to direct the eye where you want it to go.’ He cuts the deck again, using a finger to spin the two halves over themselves a couple of times. He flutters the cards from his left hand to his right, a rapid waterfall that lands in a perfect deck. He turns the bottom of the deck up towards me. The Queen of Hearts gazes out at me again.
Joshua ignores my eye roll as he shuffles the cards again. ‘And two,’ he says, so quietly that I have to lean forward to hear, ‘you can tell a story. It’s about guiding your audience’s focus. Which part of the trick they’re paying attention to, which bits slip under their radar. You can do all that, if you’re good enough, just with words; with the tone of your voice, inflection, volume –’
‘So you’re saying that the fundamental key to all magic is the ability to bullshit?’
Joshua gives me a sharp side-eye. ‘Not bullshit. That’s no fun. Besides, most people can read insincerity a mile off. It’s more like … well, the most important thing is that your audience knows you’re on their side, that you’re part of the same game. You’re sharing something, not pulling a con. I read this thing once that said that really good magicians possess an instinct for how people perceive the world. It’s about the ability to get a read on strangers, to know what makes them tick. How you’re gonna bamboozle them while making them glad you did.’ He shrugs. ‘I dunno. I kinda like that.’