Black Warrior by Tiffiny Hall

Author:Tiffiny Hall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-08-24T04:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

Art’s long socks rib gently together as he power walks past me to the front passenger seat. Elecktra drums her watermelon-pink nails on the steering wheel. She is wearing a nightmare of a dress that is covered in a print of tiny green cactuses with platform sandals. My heart beats to the rhythm of death metal. This is a bad idea.

‘You’re incredible,’ Art says, looking down at Elecktra’s footwear.

She gives a dramatic huff and removes her platforms and changes into a pair of ballet flats from her bag.

‘Accelerator, brake, indicators, rear-vision mirror,’ Art instructs.

Lecky looks up at the rear-vision mirror and puckers her lips.

‘Having your side mirrors adjusted so you can see the sides of your vehicle leaves you with blind spots,’ he says, reaching out his window to adjust Lecky’s left-hand mirror. ‘Trick is to angle the side mirror out until you can see an overtaking vehicle overlap your rear-view mirror.’ Lecky has already tuned out. Art claps his hands for her attention. ‘The best road safety for you will be a rear-vision mirror with a policeman in it,’ he huffs.

‘Does she have to drive?’ I ask from the back seat.

‘She’ll be driving you around one day,’ Art says.

Lecky winks at me and revs the engine.

‘Got a helmet?’ I ask.

Apparently driving comes naturally to some people. Lecky isn’t one of them. Her driving is the opposite to Art’s. He drives in no hurry. Traffic hoons around him, but the urgency is lost on him. He’s always taking it at his own pace, absorbing the world through colour, the navy swirls of tar on the road, the cinnamon flecks of dust on the windscreen, the neon galaxy of lights from fast-food chains. Driving for Art is an artistic experience.

Art grips the dashboard. ‘Amber means slow down,’ he says, raising his voice.

Lecky presses her toe onto the accelerator. ‘Or to speed up,’ she retorts as I grip the door handle.

It’s a miracle we arrive at Hero’s place in one piece. Lecky was more concerned with tanning her driving arm and playing DJ with the car radio than observing the road rules.

‘I’ll take it from here,’ Art says, offering to park for Lecky, and squeezes her shoulder. ‘You know, I was scared of driving too. I hated heights and the thought of driving over bridges completely terrified me.’

We smile at him affectionately, then Lecky shrugs. ‘Totally,’ she says.

Hero is waiting on a white verandah with his mum. She is wearing a floral smock dress and a pair of trainers with a neon tick on the side. She looks really old, more like a grandmother than a mum; snowy haired and as frail as a scarecrow.

Art strides up to Hero and offers his hand. Hero shakes it limply. Blood stampedes to my cheeks remembering all the nasty things Hero has said about Art in the past.

‘Art,’ Art says, introducing himself.

Hero doesn’t look up. Art cups his ear and waits.

‘Hero, mister,’ Hero says obediently. ‘This is my mum. She likes Grace.’

Grace smiles kindly, then reaches up and hooks her arm around Art’s neck.

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