Acid Song Read Online Free Page A

were. Before I could properly articulate the how or the why of it, I – along with Susan and an anthropologist by the name of Pipa Whyte – was moving down to Wellington, to establish the country’s first solely academic research institute. It lasted only two years before it was brought under Victoria’s wing, but university politics makes for a dull interview. That in brief is the story of Stephen Watson, and The Institute. A tale of chance in the end. Written perhaps in the stars.’
    Richard leaned back and stretched his arms together above his head.
    ‘And that is all you’re getting for now, unless you are interested in making a film about penguins.’
    ‘Just one last question,’ Amanda replied, ignoring the dismissal as, Richard supposed, journalists must. ‘What, if you were to sum it up in hindsight, is The Institute’s achievement you remain most proud of?’
    ‘I suppose in the end the networks we have established. Internationally, there is a community of ideas, of interest, and we’re part of that. It’s old fashioned to say it I know, but we’re part of the ongoing search for knowledge. Maybe a futile search, but a profoundly human one. Will that do?’
    He’d given that answer so many times over the years that it was polished smooth from the handling. And the smoother it got, the less plausible it became. These days, truth be told, he didn’t believe in it at all.
     
     
    ‘YEAH, SO, UM, see ya then.’
    Ollie allowed himself only a quick scan of Sophie’s face to make sure she wasn’t crying, then looked again to his feet. He kicked at the ground, and waited for her to say something. Waited to be released. People swarmed all around, laughing, complaining, squealing, pushing their way past. If it were anyone else, Sophie might have thought he planned for it to happen this way, right at the end of lunchtime, at the bottleneck at the bottom of the stairs. She wouldn’t scream here. She wouldn’t break down. She wouldn’t plead or make a scene. But she knew Ollie didn’t plan things. If he was asked, if he was forced to think about it, he might even be able to imagine himself as the victim. That she just happened to him. Saturday night, at the party, it just happened. What she had thought of as his cool was something else, she saw that now. It was just unbothered. Too unbothered to say no, and then later, when the sex and the alcohol had both faded, too unbothered to answer his mates, when they asked, ‘So what’s the deal with Sophie?’ (What deal man? There’s no deal.)
    He did it this way. He was coming down the stairs while everybody else was going up, finishing a lunchtime detention probably, planning on a session up at the pines as compensation. He saw her.She happened to be there. He grabbed her arm, slowed her down, forced her to take in his smile. His easy, casual, nothing-happening face.
    ‘Hey, Sophie.’
    ‘Hi.’ She smiled back, felt it warm her.
    He launched straight into it, as if it was a thought that had only just this moment come to him. Which was possible.
    ‘Hey, about the other night, that didn’t, like, just checking you knew that didn’t mean nothing right?’
    ‘What? Nah, of course not.’
    Naked beneath him, terrified, wishing he would say something, wishing he would at least look her in the eyes, hoping it wasn’t the sort of park people would walk through, late at night. And if she couldn’t have any of that, then wishing she could be drunk like he was, as a way of deadening the disappointment. Why would it mean anything? What did he think she was, stupid?
    Sophie shrugged, raised a single eyebrow, a move she had perfected in front of the mirror in Year Nine. Not for this. She’d had bigger plans for the eyebrow.
    ‘Right, sweet.’ Ollie nodded sagely, like an old man appreciating the late revelation of life’s pattern. Only he was sixteen, with a pimple forming between his eyes and oil glistening on his forehead. The nod he had picked up from a