Around Midnight

By Zarina Macha

Musical Megan falls for the local bad boy in this romantic teen drama. A young adult story packed with emotion, desire, and pain of first love.

The harder you love, the higher the stakes.

Jazz is everything to Megan Hollis. When her hands clasp the saxophone, melodies flow with each breath.

Music carries her from Copperwood to London, with university on the horizon. Set on attending London's prestigious School of Jazz, all elements of her life harmonize.

Then she meets Vincent Turner, the mysterious guy with a dangerous reputation. Intoxicated by his possessive charms, Megan's love shifts from melodic bliss to a dissonant nightmare.

While the future promises stardust dreams, her new relationship takes a turn for the worse. Megan becomes caught between what she wants and what everyone believes is best for her.

Will Megan learn to dance to the beat of her own rhythm?

 

Recommended for those looking for realistic stories about following your heart and standing on your own two feet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zarina Macha
• Release date: Jan 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781916132696

Zarina Macha

Zarina Macha is an award-winning independent author of five books under her name. In 2021, her young adult novel Anne won the international Page Turner Book Award for fiction. She began publishing her work in 2018 while completing a degree in Songwriting and Creative Artistry from The Academy of Contemporary Music (ACM) in Guildford. Her three published YA fiction works are Every Last Psycho (2018), a compilation of two novellas that deal with heavy trauma and mental illness; Anne (2019), a coming-of-age novel about domestic violence, and Around Midnight (2020), a novel about an emotionally abusive teenage relationship. She has also published two poetry volumes; Art is a Waste of Time (2018) and Single Broke Female (2019). Both explore the essence of womanhood, including sexuality, femininity, and emotional angst. She regular performs her poetry at various functions in London, including Poetry Unplugged, the Farrago Slam, and the Global Fusion Music & Arts Spoken Word events. Macha also writes contemporary new adult romance under the pen name Diana Vale. Her Kirk University books are standalone stories about students who find love at university. This fictitious university is based on the real-life University of York in northern England where Macha briefly attended prior to ACM. Macha is most active on YouTube where she regularly uploads lively and informative content about her books, writing process, and day-to-day life. Visit her channel to stay updated on her work. She currently resides in her hometown of London, UK. Art is a Waste of Time is available to download for free (eBook only) via signing up to Macha's monthly newsletter: https://storyoriginapp.com/giveaways/4a955900-7b14-11ea-9fcc-f384d4e75ead

Book preview

1

He was watching her from across the room.

She stood by the wall, holding her beer and nodding her head to the music. Everyone was talking and laughing amongst themselves in already-formed groups. She assumed most were in her age-range, sixteen to nineteen, but many of the girls looked like they were in their early twenties with their back-combed hair and stiletto heels. Some of the boys had thick beards and spoke in gruff voices that reminded her of motorcyclists.

All her friends back in Copperwood had told her how lucky she was to be moving to London. People spent their whole lives dreaming of the tall, sweeping buildings, neon traffic lights, and rows of shops spread from Oxford Circus to Tottenham Court Road. Her parents said it was perfect timing, what with her dad’s new job and her mum’s vocal tuition classes expanding. And of course, she’d be closer to the London School of Jazz — the university her parents had her set on going since she was fifteen. They had uprooted her from her old life, and she had flown with it.

Now, she stood at this house party, thrown by some guy called Dylan. Three weeks into Bloomsted Secondary School and Sixth Form, and she’d been taken in by Xiang and Carrie, two stylish, talkative girls who said they would help her settle in. They had dressed her up and made her sparkle. Her blonde, curly hair fell past her shoulders. Her lips had been painted red and her eyelids purple. A tight black bandeau top and skinny white jeans were set on her body, with silver shoes to match (borrowed from Carrie). Her parents wouldn’t have normally let her go out showing so much skin, but Xiang had said Megan could stay at her house, so her parents were none the wiser.

She wished the girls were here now, but Xiang had rushed off to greet some friends, and Carrie was cosied up on the sofa with some boy, whispering and giggling and letting him feel her up. Megan rubbed her bare white arm with her free hand, grimacing while sipping the bland, frothy beer.

She peered around the dark room with its flashing lights and thumping club music, trying to immerse herself in the world of partying youths. This is what being seventeen is all about, she tried to convince herself, putting the stained beer bottle to her lips.

She turned her head. A guy was standing on his own, eyeing her. His gaze fell to the floor. A warm flush filled her chest, and her heart increased its pace. Perhaps it was the beer. She took another sip while looking down, then glanced up. He was still staring, his dark, brooding eyes intense against his pale skin framed in short brown hair. A white shirt and jeans covered his slim, athletic build.

Taking another sip, Megan approached him, smiling.

You all right? Great party, isn’t it? She chuckled nervously, tapping her bottle to the Budweiser he held. He blinked at her and mumbled, Hello, as he stroked the stubble on his chiselled jaw, his back slightly hunched.

The warmth in her chest deepened. Definitely the beer. Do you know many people here?

Not really. His voice was low and soft. Empathy coursed through her, regarding this shy guy standing on his own.

What’s your name?

Vincent.

Like Vincent Van Gogh?

A grin spread across his face. Most people call me Vince.

She giggled again, putting her hand to her lips. God, I’m tipsy already, but I hardly drink. This is only my first beer, and I have barely half left. She was aware of how animated and silly she sounded. Vince merely smiled and let his gaze fall to the floor again, then back at her.

I don’t usually like the taste of beer. He gestured to his glass bottle. It’s just a social thing, you know? Blending in and all that.

Yeah, all we can do is try blend in at these things. Her eyes swept over everyone in the room. Do you go to Bloomsted?

No, I went for secondary school but didn’t stay on at the sixth form. I’m at a different college. He nodded towards the dancing crowd. Dylan and I used to be mates back in year eleven.

Oh. Megan shifted from foot to foot.

So, what’s your name?

Megan.

I haven’t seen you around here before.

She leaned her arm against the wall, blowing air upwards to cool the heat on her skin. That’s because my parents and I moved here from Copperwood. You probably don’t know it. It’s one of those small, random towns outside London.

Yeah, if it’s a small, random town, I probably haven’t heard of it.

She twirled a lock of hair around her fingers while the corners of his mouth turned upwards. Why did you move here?

Erm, it’s a long story. She drained the last bit of her beer and flicked some hair out of her face. My dad worked for an M&A company in Luton, but got headhunted by a different company in London that pays more and has a bigger office. My mum teaches private vocal lessons and thought she’d get more students in London. And because I want to apply to the London School of Jazz next year, I guess coming here made sense.

He gazed at her intently as she spoke, his expression flat and difficult to read. What instrument do you play?

Saxophone.

He smiled a cheeky, mischievous smile, mimicking fingers tapping the air. Who are your inspirations?

Her face lit up, then she swallowed, flicking her hair again with trembling hands. Erm, I love the major jazz musicians. Charlie Parker obviously, John Coltrane, Dexter Gordon, Sonny R-Rollins… His gaze made her very aware of her presence as if she was under a spotlight in the middle of the room. I l-listen to a lot of Courtney Pine as well. He’s one of the more well-known contemporary players. I even met him once.

I don’t know who any of those people are, he said. Exchanges of mirth passed between the two. But I’ve heard of — Miles Davis?

Of course. Miles is the man. Her leg shook up and down. "Tutu is one of my favourite albums ever. His cover of ‘Human Nature’ just makes me want to melt — the Michael Jackson song."

I know Michael Jackson. He propped his arm against the wall, relaxing into his body as he spoke to her. It’s not every day you meet a girl who plays jazz. Most musical girls I know just want to be the next Taylor Swift or Beyoncé.

I…erm, guess I’m not most girls. She giggled weakly. He raised his eyebrow. How long you been playing?

Since I was twelve. My parents love jazz. They took me to a Charlie Parker tribute concert in London. We’ve been to loads of live music shows. I can’t wait to see the Motown Live show when it comes to London in a few weeks.

He nodded, and she bit her lip, looking at the ground. What about you? She tucked some blonde waves behind her ear. What do you, like, do?

I’m probably nowhere near as interesting as you, he said. I’m studying IT up at Collington.

Oh, okay. I don’t know where that is.

It’s the college down the road for rebellious kids who fuck with the system.

Splashes of beer spluttered from her lips, but then her face fell at his blank expression. She cleared her throat. Why do you go there?

Cos I’m a rebellious kid who fucked with the system.

She blinked at him, tapping her foot. What did you do?

He grinned and looked away. All sorts of stupid shit. You probably wouldn’t want to hear it.

No, I’m intrigued now, she said. As he turned his head back to her, there was a light tap on her arm.

Megan! There you are! Xiang put her arm around Megan’s shoulders and some of her black shiny hair sprung into Megan’s mouth. Xiang squealed and doubled over, pulling it out. Ew, sorry! I’m kind of drunk, haha.

That’s okay.

Xiang’s eyes flickered to Vince, then back to Megan. I was gonna introduce you to some people. Carrie’s busy getting off with Ben. They’ve had this stupid on-and-off thing going for months. She rolled her slanted eyes and pouted her purple lips. Mind if I borrow her? Sorry if I’m interrupting.

No, please, go ahead. I was gonna head off soon anyway, said Vince. Megan blinked at him. Erm, do you, like, have Facebook or anything?

Yep, I’ll add you. He took out his phone. Xiang adjusted her tight black dress, tapping her boot heel impatiently.

Megan Hollis. The second one, said Megan. He selected it, then flicked his eyes to her. Cool, I’ve added you. You’ll have to accept now, otherwise I’ll know if you don’t.

Amusement filled the air between them like an expanding balloon.

Guess I’ll see you later then. Vince raised his fingers in a mock-salute.

---

Xiang pulled Megan away from the noisy room and into the corridor. A few girls were giggling and stumbling over one another while a guy thumped their back and cheered them on.

That guy you were talking to, his name is Vincent Turner. He’s a complete dickhead.

Megan blinked and turned her head around. He seemed nice to me.

Look, last year, this girl who used to go Bloomsted — Chelsea — she went out with him, and the relationship literally ended with him coming to her house and threatening her. She had to call the police. Xiang’s eyes were wide and dramatic, her voice slurring with vodka.

Megan regarded her anxiously, not wanting to question her new friend. Are you sure it was him?

"Positive. Everyone knows about it. I never even used to talk to Chelsea, and I know about it. She moved up to Enfield after that. Xiang shuddered. He’s so creepy. I always see him hanging around at parties either standing on his own or randomly chatting to drunk girls. Best to stay away from him. Hey, girl!" Xiang clapped her hands and bounced up and down, her expression switching from concerned to cheerful faster than the waft of wine to an alcoholic. Megan turned and saw Carrie giggling at the pair of them, her wild curly hair fanning over tanned shoulders.

"So, I’m thinking, might head back to Ben’s house. Carrie winked at the pair of them. Megan smiled weakly, and Xiang rolled her eyes, giving Carrie a shove. You never learn, do you? God, she’s terrible. Xiang shook her head at Megan. Look, whatever you do, be safe. Use a condom!"

Megan’s beer sprayed out of her mouth again while Carrie enveloped her arm over Megan’s shoulders. You enjoying yourself so far?

"Oh god, Carrie, she was talking to Vince."

Carrie slapped her hand over her mouth. Not Chelsea’s ex!

Xiang nodded.

Megan stepped back from the two, pulling away from Carrie’s blue playsuit. He seemed fine to me. I don’t know what you two are stressing about.

"Erm, we know this shit. It’s our duty to look after you."

I don’t need looking after, Megan wanted to say. Instead, she simpered. Sorry, guys, I get it. I guess I’m just a bit tired. Not really used to all this after all.

Aw, she’ll learn. Xiang tugged at Carrie’s playsuit straps. So he’s gonna take this all off then?

Are you and Ben really going to…you know? Megan blinked at the two. They clapped their hands together, guffawing like horses, and then Xiang sighed fondly. She thought we were joking, bless!

We’ve shagged loads of times, just not recently. Mind you, he’s so gone, he probably won’t be able to get it up. Carrie groaned. Fucking men can’t do jack shit when they’re pissed.

What about you? Megan turned to Xiang. Have you, like, done…erm, sexual stuff with guys?

Xiang and Carrie looked at one another and erupted into hysteria again. Megan’s high cheekbones flushed pink.

I haven’t had full sex yet, but I’ve done other stuff obviously. I’d rather wait to shag a guy I really care about, you know? Xiang ran a hand through her shiny black hair. Megan ached to look like Xiang — sleek and refined — or wild and carefree like Carrie. Instead, she resembled an innocent cherub; a soft English rose who looked about fourteen.

How far have you gone with a guy? Xiang blinked expectantly at Megan, the corners of her mouth tilting as if she already knew the answer. Megan ogled the floor. I mean, nothing besides kissing and making out.

You will do, don’t worry, babe. Carrie patted her cheek. "God, you’re so pretty. Maybe I should dye my hair blonde."

Long as it isn’t with a guy like Vince, you’ll be fine. Xiang kissed Megan’s cheek, then squealed. Megan forced a chuckle, although the insides of her stomach were clenched.

2

Megan woke up to two missed calls and a text message from her mum asking how she was and how the party had been. She stifled a groan and scratched her hair, all rumpled and strewn over the bedclothes. Xiang had lent her a black T-shirt with the words Queen of the Frickin’ Universe and a busty cartoon lady holding a laser while standing on an image of a globe.

Fortunately, she hadn’t drunk too much and had managed to haul Xiang into an Uber back to her place, which had only been a fifteen-minute drive away. Xiang had yelped gratitude as Megan held her hair back and listened to her birth bile into the toilet bowl. Soon after, Xiang had stumbled down the corridor, loudly humming songs from Dirty Dancing before collapsing into bed and leaving Megan to tuck her in.

She wondered what her parents would say or do if she came home pissed at two o'clock in the morning. That was what girls were meant to do at her age. None of her friends back in Copperwood had been in the party crowd; they had all been geeky outsiders who hung around the background. They made their own fun, and Megan tried to join in, laughing at their jokes and imitating their uniformed language. She suddenly ached for Robyn, her best friend, who she hadn’t spoken to in over a week. Robyn was busy shitting herself over her UCAS application.

Megan rolled onto her back, sighing and staring up at the wall. She imagined what it would be like to leave her body and drift up through the bricks and stone holding Xiang’s home, up and out into the daylight, her arms swimming through the air. She liked to imagine this when she played her saxophone, running the blues scale from A to G sharp and letting the notes carry her into the wind. She would land on a stage filled with people applauding as she stood among some of the best jazz musicians in the country, dancing like the greats before her.

Imagine witnessing the magic of nineteen-twenties’ New Orleans first-hand! she had said to her mother once,