by Maria Boyd
I raised my eyebrow in response.
Everyone in Year 7 thinks you’re so cool. Not that many of them talk to me, but even on Friday …
I turned to face motormouth straight on. A bit of hero worship was OK, but if I didn’t find the off button soon I figured I’d blow the role model thing within two seconds of being in the hall. I located the sound at just above waist height. It was the geek from the bus stop. Staring at me with exactly the same eyes and exactly the same trusting expression. I checked out the rest of him. He could have been the poster boy for geek, minus the heavy brown glasses with milk-bottle lenses. He had a deadset bowl cut, what could only be Kmart jeans that fell to his ankles and school socks worn with ugly white sneakers. The kid was lost in a time zone all his own. No one would dress like that for real.
I turned away but he’d attached himself to my right elbow.
So you’re going to be in the band then?
Looks like it.
That’s great. There aren’t a lot of seniors. Actually, there aren’t any, apart from you.
I looked out beyond the orchestra pit and into the hall. Yep, the kid was right, I was surrounded.
It’s mostly just Year Sevens, Eights and Nines in the band. But we sound good. Brother Pat always says so. He thinks we sound as good as the band he plays in and he’s been playing for years.
He drew his first breath in thirty seconds, then hit me with: You can hang out with me if you don’t know anyone else.
The comment drew my head toward the kid like a magnet. I stared at him, looking for any trace of irony. There was none.
I think I’ll be right, mate, thanks.
He stared straight back. There was definitely something about this kid’s eyes … like they belonged to someone ancient. He wasn’t going anywhere.
I play the trombone. What instrument do you play?
I lifted up the case I held in my left hand. The guitar, mate.
My dad plays the guitar. My dad’s cool. He’s really cool.
I felt my head go down instantly. Winded like one of those destructo balls had slammed me in the gut. This type of stuff just comes up sometimes and grabs you by the balls. You never know when it’s going to happen and how to protect yourself. My silence must have had some sort of impact on the motormouth midget ’cause he actually shut up for three seconds. Just as the little guy was going to start up again I grabbed my guitar and looked around for Andrews. I knew I had to check in with him before he made a big deal of me being late.
I nodded in the little guy’s direction and he moved into a huge wave in return. I hoped for his sake his father was as cool as he said he was, because the kid was definitely going to need some help.
Mr. Andrews of St. Andrew’s
Well, well, Mr. Armstrong, I see you made it.
Andrews was grinning like he had won the lotto and the woman who presents it on telly. I was beginning to look at him in a very different light. He was enjoying every millisecond of this.
All right, sir, I’m here so let’s not make a big deal of it.
On the contrary, Mr. Armstrong, it is a big deal. Here you are on a Saturday at our hallowed and revered school, reinforcing its good name as an educational institution that produces outstanding and accomplished young men such as yourself.
English teachers speak such crap!
Give it up, sir.
No, no, I think we should all give recognition where it is due and celebrate the fact that you are indeed here, regardless of the reason why.
Sarcastic bastard. I looked around to find we had an audience. The teachers were loving every minute. Even some of those little geeks were smiling, but my snarl quickly whipped the smirks off their faces. Fortunately I was saved by the unlikeliest of heroes, Brother Pat.
Brother Pat had been kicking around St. Andrew’s since Chris’s dad had gone there. Which was a long time ago. He’d been principal for years and was now retired. After he’d hung out in Ireland for a year, he came back to St. Andrew’s to help out. Music was his thing. He was a bit like a musical Santa Claus: old, fat and great with kids. He could play any musical instrument he picked up and his singing practices were a St. Andrew’s institution.
Hello, young Will. It is wonderful to see such enthusiasm from one of our most high-profile senior students. This will be an excellent example to the younger students.
Yes, he’s good at setting examples, Brother Pat.
I threw Andrews a look, and turned to Brother Pat for more praise. Well, why not, it had been a little scarce over the past week.
You’re an accomplished musician, so I have been hearing, William. Guitar, isn’t it?
Yes, Brother.
A fine instrument. Perhaps not as well regarded in classical circles but still an excellent instrument. Fancy yourself the next Paul McCartney, eh?
Probably more of a Daniel Johns, Brother, offered Mr. Andrews.
Daniel Johns, Brother puzzled. Isn’t he a football player?
Not this one, Brother.
Anyway, son, I’m proud of you. Giving up your time to be here on a Saturday so as to help with the auditions. You know, Will, I’m going to be relying on your help over the next couple of months. This is a great opportunity for you. We can’t have your mate Christopher Holden thinking he’s the only one with leadership ability.
First Danielli and now Brother Pat. What was it with this leadership crap? But he was wrong about Chris. He didn’t rate himself. I reckon that was why all the rest of the boys did—because he didn’t.
Right, well … Brother scanned the geeks. We’ll have you set up next to that young chap who plays the trombone.
Yes, Brother.
I walked over and started to remove my one prized possession from its place of residence. At least I could still retreat into its world when it all became too much.
Cool, they’ve put you right next to me!
I looked up to see the geek grinning at me. I grimaced back. Could this possibly get any worse?
Andrews called us to attention.
All right, everybody, let’s meet in five minutes to give a running order for the day. I’ll then hand over to Brother Pat to announce the choice of musical for this year! There has been a great deal of debate and the final decision was quite contentious.
The teachers really needed to get a life!
Many of us thought we should be looking at more contemporary musicals, more up-to-date, but Brother Patrick was insistent that the oldies are always the best. And I have to say I think I agree with him.
Come on, sir, what’s it called?
This came from one of the midgets with a clarinet hanging out of his mouth. The kid couldn’t be serious!
Brother Pat and Andrews exchanged smiles. It was becoming pretty clear to me that everyone in the hall seriously wanted to know. Brother Pat moved forward.
All right then. He raised his hands and the hall stilled.
It’s called The Boy Friend. It was written in 1954 and is set in 1920s France in a girls’ finishing school. It is what we call in the business a pastiche…. But that will do for now.
What do you mean a girls’ boarding school? Do we have to wear dresses?
This came from one of the guys in Year 10, who was cracking up like it was the joke of the century.
Andrews stood up, frowning. Brother Pat indicated for him to sit down.
Finishing school, not boarding school. And, if you wish to try out for one of the girls’ parts, Paul, by all means do. The rest of the boys will be auditioning for the roles of the dashing young men who accompany the ladies.
The hall cracked up and gave Paul crap. He shrank a little in his seat. I was sitting stunned in mine.
The Boy Friend?
There was no way I was going to be part of a play set in the last century that was about boyfriends! They couldn’t be serious.
It was official—even before Jock and Tim found out—my life was over.
The Boyfriend!
I didn’
t get it. Lakeside was meant to be full-on into girls can do anything, including producing Australia’s first female prime minister, so why the hell were they doing a musical set in the 1920s written in the 1950s, set in a girls’ finishing school, called The Boy Friend? And as for Andrews and all the stuff he carries on about in English, well, he’s just a hypocrite.
Not that I gave a crap. I zoned out again, securing the ear plug of my iPod in my left ear. I drifted in and out, but you didn’t need to be an extension 2 mathematics freak to figure out the plot. It was the usual boy meets girl, boy and girl can’t get together because of parents, but boy and girl get it on anyway and everyone loves everyone by the end.
Will, get rid of that MP3 player or I will take it. Sit up and show the courtesy of listening.
Nobhead. It was an iPod, not an MP3 player. I pulled the plug out of my ear, shoved it in my pocket and glared at him.
Not in your pocket, in your bag. We don’t want you to be tempted.
He couldn’t be serious!
Come on, sir …
Now!
I shoved past the midget circus, thinking of ways I could humiliate him back. The wanker had managed to get everyone to focus on me. I threw them one of the filthiest looks I could and sat where I left my bag.
OK, Brother Pat got to do the fun part. It is up to me to spell out the reality of putting on a show in eight weeks.
What!!! I got the distinct impression I was the only person reacting because eight weeks was way too long.
Yes, eight weeks. It is not a long time, people, and it is going to mean a whole lot of hard work and dedication.
This guy must be on some serious drugs.
You will be required every Saturday for the entire day and when it comes closer to the performances, you will be expected to attend on both Saturday and Sunday.
The man’s dreaming.
Every Wednesday afternoon until six o’clock you will be working in your specialized areas, which means leads, chorus, band, dancers, et cetera.
Thank you, God! Detention. It made the water-bombing even more worthwhile, and Waddlehead would never let me get out of it.
As for the actual performances, they will take place on Friday and Saturday night consecutively.
I put my head in my hands. This couldn’t be happening! My life was ruined. I may as well just give up right now.
If there is anyone in this hall, and I mean anyone, who cannot meet these commitments, then I need you to stand up and walk out now.
The hall was full of silent noise, the type that comes from people shifting in their seats with their coats rubbing against the backs of the chairs. I felt Andrews and the other boys looking in my direction for the third time that day. But this time I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Right, then. That means one hundred percent commitment from one hundred percent of you. Congratulations, you are all part of the musical team.
The hall sadly but predictably erupted into applause.
As for the girls … Silence. Yes, I thought that might stop you. As you can see, the teachers from Lakeside have been here this morning. Their auditions will be happening tomorrow.
So let’s get started. Those wishing to audition for main parts over here with me, please. Chorus over to Ms. Sefton and the band with Brother Patrick, of course. We will be working right through until lunch. Good luck, everybody.
I watched everyone move to their areas. The hall was buzzing. The geeks circled Brother Pat, eagerly awaiting instructions.
Brother Pat pointed at me and waved me over. As I approached I heard him saying something about me being his right-hand man.
Isn’t this right, Will?
Speechless, I nodded my reply.
Will, here is your score. The younger lads can work with photocopies.
Right at that moment, if someone had said stay on earth and be Brother Pat’s right-hand man or be taken by aliens, stuck in an isolation chamber and piped with ’80s power rock ballads for half a decade, I would have willingly and knowingly chosen the alien abduction.
Not funny
Andrews was tying up the first half of the day and looking very pleased with himself.
Lunch, gentlemen. Be back here by two-thirty sharp.
I walked over to the front of the orchestra pit where he’d been sitting watching and taking notes for the past three hours. His head was down and he was scribbling something next to the guy’s name who had just sung really badly.
Sir?
Yes, Will?
How do teachers know who you are without looking up?
Why no girls?
He didn’t look surprised in the slightest that I’d asked him this question.
I thought I explained this morning. He smiled at me. Disappointed?
I’ll give him disappointed. Couldn’t the idiot see that these auditions were a stupid waste of time? The whole idea was stupid.
It doesn’t make any sense. Obviously these guys have got to be matched up with the girl characters, right?
He nodded. In most cases, yes.
Then why aren’t they auditioning at the same time?
He turned around, hitched himself up onto the stage and put his feet on one of the chairs in the orchestra pit.
Truthfully, we thought it might be easier for all involved to audition in a setting that wasn’t threatening, so we decided on single-sex auditions for the first phase. Don’t you think you’d be even more nervous if you had to perform for the first time in front of a hall full of Lakeside girls? His tone changed. Or perhaps, considering your latest escapade, you may have experienced no difficulty whatsoever.
That’s not funny, sir.
I saw just a hint of surprise on Andrews’s face.
Come on, Will, it was a joke.
I decided to break my silence. Let him know he’d stuffed up my life.
You stitched me up, sir.
He smiled again. Was this bloke actually enjoying this?
I’m sorry you feel I betrayed you, Will. That wasn’t my intention.
That was it? That was all he had to say? He was sorry if I felt I’d been betrayed? It had nothing to do with how I bloody felt and everything to do with what he had bloody done. If he hadn’t opened his mouth, I probably would have only copped a term’s worth of detentions. They wouldn’t have thrown me out of the school, not this time anyway. I could feel my heart hammering against my chest, and I was clenching my teeth.
Come off it, sir, how was I meant to react? Because of you I’ve got the longest punishment in the history of Australian education. What did you expect me to do—come up and tell you what a great guy you are?
I could tell by his eyes that he was surprised at how pissed off I was at him. Andrews rarely lost his temper; it was one of the things the boys liked about him. But there was something inside me that wanted to push him till he lost it. That wasn’t happening, though. He seemed to get more calm the angrier I got.
He said really softly, I know it seems like I’m singling you out at the moment, Will, but I honestly think you’re going to get a whole lot out of this experience.
He paused for a moment and looked at me. He went to say something and then stopped. Then he started again.
Will, I didn’t want you to lose everything you had built up for yourself over the past four years, and Mr. Waverton was seriously considering asking you to leave. Which is the last thing your mother needs at the moment and the last thing you need. I know it’s been really hard for you. This was my way of trying to show you my support. Last year you were one of the best—
Every bloody time they always got back to this! I cut him off before he could get started. That was last year, sir! Things are different now! Everything is different! I’m different!
I turned and left him sitting on his pedestal.
The Dumpster
I walked out the door, right out of the playground and into the car park. It was only when I was at the gates that I started to slow down. I hadn’t
felt this wound up in a very long time. I was different from last year; so what! I wished people would just get over it.
There was no chance of me going back into that hall. I didn’t give a shit what happened, it wasn’t worth the grief. I couldn’t open the gates because they had two big fat padlocks wrapped around them. The only escape route was out the driveway past the industrial estate.
I’d made it halfway when one of the skips I was passing began to spew up rubbish. I stood and stared. Maybe I really was cracking up. But it was like the bin had gorged itself with the entire contents of the tuckshop and was now upchucking the lot.
It was at this point that I heard the cries for help. I approached the skip and began to investigate.
I threw an Oi.
Help!
I walked closer.
It really stinks and I can’t get out!
I definitely was not in the mood to be a hero, I just wanted out. What idiot gets himself stuck in a Dumpster anyway? He deserves to stay in there.
Help!
But what could I do, leave the kid in there and wait for the garbage truck to completely masticate his body and give the poor garbage men a heart attack?
All right, mate. Take it easy. I’ll get you out.
Easier said than done. This took a little more strategic thought than dropping your daks at a bus. It wasn’t that the Dumpster was so big, it was more that it was curved and the little guy couldn’t get any leverage to haul himself out.
I scanned the area and found a bunch of milk crates surrounded by piles of cigarette butts. The not-so-secret teachers’ smoko area. Waddlehead should have a go at them just like he does at us about all the crap in the playground. I grabbed a couple of crates and chucked them into the Dumpster, hoping it wouldn’t cause the kid more injury.
See if you can put them on top of each other and then just hurl yourself up onto them.
I could hear his efforts and gathered that this kid had not had his ugly but useful growth spurt and was not used to hoisting himself out of anywhere. Just as I was thinking I was going to have to climb in there and give him a leg-up, which I really didn’t want to do, I saw two hands grip the edge of the bin and then two eyes peer out over the top. I knew those eyes. They belonged to the freak I met earlier. It all began to make sense. Of course he would be the one that even the geeks would pick on. Every group has its pecking order. This kid had Pick on Me tattooed all over him.
