‘I can’t feel my cheek,’ Jet said, driving her finger into it, nail first. ‘Can you feel your cheek?’
Billy leaned across the table, fingers outstretched.
‘No, notmycheek, yours. Can you feel anything when you prod it?’
Billy picked up Jet’s bottle of beer instead. ‘How many of these have you had?’
‘You’re good, Billy,’ Jet said. ‘Better than good. Fucking good.’
‘Stop.’ He pulled his shirt up, hooking it over his nose, covering his face.
Jet reached over and yanked it down, her fingerprints remaining, creases in the fabric.
‘Why have you been hiding that?’
‘I didn’t hide it,’ Billy said. ‘I’ve invited you like fifty times. You’re always busy.’
‘Always busy,’ she murmured, a puff of air that was both a sigh and a laugh, it couldn’t decide, and neither could Jet. ‘But, Billy, you could do this, you know. Write songs, play them, get paid to do it.’
‘Nah,’ he said, the sound echoing in his beer bottle.
‘No, you could, I’m serious,’ Jet said, seriously. ‘You just have to be discovered, and then it can all really begin.’
‘What can begin?’
‘Life, Billy.’ She slapped the table. ‘I can’t believe you’ve been sitting on this. You’ve never thought about purs-pur-p – doing this? Doing it properly?’
Billy shrugged. ‘I don’t think I want that. I just write songs because I like to do it, that’s all. Makes me happy.’
Was he joking?
‘But,’ she said, ‘what’s the point in doing it, if it’s not to achieve something big?’
‘Maybe there is no point.’
Jet felt a flash of annoyance warm up her neck, sitting straighter with it. ‘But there has to be a point. Otherwise you’re just wasting your time.’
Billy shrugged. ‘Is it a waste of time if I love every minute?’
Jet chewed her lip, studied his face. ‘Yes, Billy. You’ve literally just described a waste of time.’
He laughed into his beer.
‘It’s not funny,’ Jet exhaled into hers. ‘You’re lucky you found the thing you’re good at. I never did find mine. And I lookeda lot.’
‘What are you talking about, Jet? You got into UPenn, one of the best law schools in the world.’
‘… And dropped out after two semesters.’
‘Then you worked at that fancy bank in Boston.’
‘… And quit because the hours were too long, and I never had time to drink enough water, so I kept pissing blood, which isnotgood for you, apparently.’ She held out her bottle to Billy’s on the table,cheers-ed it.
Billy’s smile turned down at the corners. ‘I think you’re too hard on yourself.’
Jet shook her head. ‘Not hard enough. Yeah, I haven’t actually finished anything I’ve started … ever.’ She rubbed her eye with her sleeve – Billy’s sleeve – came back with a grin, used it as a shield. ‘Actually, that’s not true. When I was ten, I did come first in the regional spelling bee, beat all the teenagers.’
Billy’s eyes flickered. ‘Wasn’t that the same day that –’