Free Shutterspeed by A. J. Betts

best to compose the photos — some with the Ducati, others with Leroy at home.
    She’s still with him in maths, but Mr Carey’s having a shit day and he takes it out on the class. In particular hetakes it out on Dustin, who’s been drawing in the back of his notebook. Carey tears out the page and critiques the sketch in front of everyone.
    â€˜So this is what Da Vinci has achieved this lesson! Something else on your mind besides trig, eh? Well, how can I compete with legs like that?’
    â€˜Fuck off, wanker.’ There’s nothing mumbled or slurred about it. Dustin picks up his bag and leaves the classroom before Carey can throw him out.
    Walking down the corridor of E Block, his pulse remains steady. Carey’s not worth getting upset about. Not anymore. There’s more to life than taking shit from dickhead teachers. Out in the real world there’s freedom. There’s a world of adults and soft sea-breeze nights. And there’s Terri Pavish.
    He cuts through the quadrangle, littered with chip wrappers and soft drink cans. The background noise of classrooms — teenage chatter and stupid conversations — embarrasses him. He’s better than all this and there’s nothing here he’s got left to learn. As he crosses to the bike shed, he promises himself that today’s going to be his last at this school. He just wants to hit the road hard, to sweat out Carey through his pores and let his bike lead him to somewhere that matters. Somewhere real.
    â€˜Did you get off early today?’
    How did she know to find him here, now? How does she always know?
    Jasmine leans against the bike shed wall. Her tanned legs are crossed at the ankles, her short socks casually folded over. Her eyes shine up at him. She half-grins.
    â€˜Yeah, for good behaviour. I hate this place,’ he says. ‘Me too. Music’s boring.’ She casts her eyes in the direction of a nearby music studio where a relief teacher is sitting at the front reading a newspaper. ‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
    â€˜I’m leaving,’ he says.
    â€˜Where you going?’
    He shrugs, then lies. ‘Home.’
    â€˜Shit, it must be bad.’ She squints up at the sky, softly rubs the small bump of her tummy and considers her options. ‘I’m coming too, then.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜I hate Thursdays.’
    The bike lock rattles as it comes free.
    â€˜Besides,’ Jasmine continues, ‘Mrs Hanson caught me with the turtle and said she’d confiscate it. She called it a wild animal, can you believe it? She doesn’t care. Nobody does. That’s the problem with this world …’
    â€˜Ease up, Jaz.’
    â€˜Well, what am I supposed to do with it? Let it die in the suburban jungle? Let it get killed on roads? Pecked to death by seagulls?’
    â€˜Give me a break, would ya?’
    She laughs, her goal accomplished.
    â€˜I’m going.’
    â€˜I know,’ she says. ‘I’m coming too.’ She dangles car keys from her right hand.
    He remembers she’s not the enemy. ‘Let’s go then.’
    Even the threat of Jasmine’s bad driving doesn’t put him off today. They pull the wheels from his bike and lodge the frame tightly into the back of Jasmine’s white Mini Minor. She reverses out and drives the two of them away from school and it feels bloody good. Along Leighton Beach, the sun heats up the car and their bodies. He eases into the seat and looks out to the Indian Ocean from the car’s open window, filling his lungs with warm sea air.
    Jasmine sings aloud, unselfconsciously. It’s some Eskimo Joe song crackling out from the radio. The sun hits his face and he can’t help smiling. Today was worth getting out of bed for. Today he told Carey to fuck off, and now he’s hanging out with Jasmine somewhere between school and home, without having to feel stressed about it. Tomorrow he’ll