by Maria Boyd
Zach stopped. Well, I was going to but I was waiting for you to come out too …
He trailed off and his eyes bulged like they had at Chris’s place. This kid was waiting for a bodyguard and I was it.
All right, mate, just give me a little room to get the rest of this stuff away.
And with that he pogoed his way over to Brother Pat and offered to help with the cleanup. I shook my head. What chance had this kid got?
OK, Freak, let’s go.
It was about then that Brother Pat moved into the frame.
It appears your young friend here has offered to pack away the music stands, Will.
The Freak nodded enthusiastically.
And I’m sure he’d love some assistance.
I gave Brother as much of a smile as I could and then threw a death stare at the Freak. Not only did I have to give up my Saturday but now I was cleaning up as well!
Hey, Willo.
It was Chris, dressed in full gear, ready to go and smash some heads.
Here’s the little guy’s stuff.
He smiled at the music stand in my hands. Good to see you’re helping out.
Get stuffed.
Just at that moment the Freak bounded over.
Hey, Chris. Thanks heaps. I’ll just go and get changed before Dad gets here. Will, I’d really like you to meet my dad. Do you reckon you could hang around until he comes?
I looked at him and then at Chris, who had a great big smile on his face.
Watch out, mate, you might have yourself a one-man fan club there.
At least he’s not going to campaign for me to be school captain.
Can’t hear you, mate, got to go.
Chris bolted out the door, his football studs echoing throughout the hall.
The Freak positively skipped out of the toilets. He looked around and then pointed over at the entrance to the hall.
Hey, there he is!
I could only assume that the he was his dad. One thing I knew was that I was definitely not meeting his father; it had been enough of a spin-out day without that.
Listen, mate, I’ve got to go. But I promise I’ll meet him another time.
Disappointment flickered over his face for the briefest of moments and then evaporated.
It’s all right, Will. There’ll be plenty of time to meet him. Just think about it, we get to hang out for a whole two months.
Brilliant! Just bloody brilliant!
Wednesday-
afternoon detention
Waddlehead had made the fatal mistake of announcing to the whole school that the first combined rehearsals for the musical would take place this afternoon in the St. Andrew’s hall. The school went into a frenzy. It was one of the few occasions when boys actually hung around after the bell and, just coincidentally, outside the entrance to the hall.
The room for detention was diagonally opposite. It looked like they would have to open two more classrooms, so many people turned up. I figured I would have to spend enough of my time over in the hall, so I wasn’t exactly full of the same excitement. Jock, however, who’d been nailed for taking an incident in the woodwork room involving a jigsaw and a junior a little too far, was very excited.
We were outside the H block waiting for the teacher to arrive. Even Chris had decided to hang around before we were called into sixty minutes of torture by lines and silence.
So, boys, who’s on?
It was a Wednesday-afternoon regular, Dion.
Danielli, I think.
Shit!
I knew what he meant. Some detentions could be a laugh depending on what teacher was on. Danielli meant this week was definitely not going to be a laugh. Jock, however, was oblivious to everything except the girl factor.
Come on, mate, you must have seen them!
He hadn’t stopped harassing me since the bell had gone for admin.
You’ve been involved from the start. What were they like?
Jock, I told you they weren’t there.
Come on, Willo, you can’t keep them all to yourself, that’s being selfish. Were there any real hotties? You know, the dancing, wear their hair in a ponytail type.
The what type? The boys cracked up laughing.
I heard that the head of Green House is a real sort.
Who?
Jock ignored the question.
You know, man, when I first found out about your punishment I thought it was slack. I really felt sorry for you, man, but now, when I think about it, it’s not even a punishment.
Yeah right, Jock.
No, think about it. This has the potential to be a major babe fest. The ratio of cool fellas to hot babes would have to be in your favor. You said yourself that the auditions were full of Year Seven geeks.
That was the band, you idiot!
Whatever! He pointed to the other group of St. Andrew’s students who were staying behind on a Wednesday afternoon—except this lot were there voluntarily. As if those nobheads are going to be in with a chance.
Most of us just let Jock crap on; Chris, however, would always arrive at a point where he’d tell him to pull his head in.
Mate, don’t you go to the movies? Don’t you watch people get paid millions for what they do on-screen? They would’ve been the types who were in school musicals.
No way, man. You can’t tell me that Russell Crowe was ever in a puncey school musical.
Yeah, he was. He was in the Coffs Harbour production of The Sound of Music.
Incredulous, Jock scanned the group, looking for support. No way! I don’t believe you. We nodded back at him with fake serious faces. Have you seen him in Gladiator? A bloke like that could never …
There was no way Chris knew whether Russell Crowe was ever in a school musical, but he was enjoying watching Jock’s reaction as much as the rest of us.
Jock refused to change down a gear.
The point I was trying to make was that Willo here could turn the punishment from hell into pick-up palace. And when he does, I want him to spare a moment’s thought for his mates …
What Jock didn’t realize was that his mates were now firmly focused on the arrival of the Lakeside Girls bus, which was making a slow procession up the side entrance.
A nice sensitive guy like myself could get on really well with one of those dancer types. I don’t want one of those arty types, though, they think too much….
Jock was the only St. Andrew’s student in the yard who had missed the bus come to a halt at the hall.
Jock!
No, Willo, you’ve got a—
Just shut up, mate, and have a look!
The bus doors opened. Silence filled the middle quad.
There she is! She’s the one I was talking about, the head of Green House!
The entire occupancy of the quad, including the girls, turned and looked in our direction.
Shut up, mate!
You bloody idiot!
Don’t point, you loser!
We stood captured in the spotlight, victims of the Jock factor. This time a moon was definitely not going to help the situation. I decided the best way to handle it was to turn around and pretend that I wasn’t there.
At that point I heard a familiar Woooooooooooo! fill the quad and the boys started slapping Jock on the back. I turned around to see the backs of the girls as they made their way through the doors of the hall, laughter trailing behind.
You missed it, Willo! Jock’s in love. The head of Green House just blew him a kiss.
OK, boys, that’s me out of here. Chris nodded at Danielli, who was making his way over from his office, detention folder in his hands. Thanks for the show, Jock!
Danielli looked over his extra-large coffee. This must be the first time all year that everybody’s here.
He looked over at the hall and turned.
Any particular reason?
The boys put their heads down. Some grinned.
Well, it’s all right, fellas, I’ll make sure that you’re out of here on the dot of four-thirty. I he
ar that’s right about the time rehearsals finish up.
Danielli, he was all right really.
The special assignment
It was Friday, the last period of the week. We were always restless in this lesson and seized any opportunity to get out of having to do any writing, or anything that resembled work.
I’d kind of gotten over being angry with Mr. Andrews. I was doing my time and there was nothing I could do about it. I was pretending to be listening to him but really I was watching the clock.
He was on one of his favorite topics.
So tell me, gentlemen, what is the stereotype of the footballer?
Jock!!!
The class cracked up. Even if Jock had been there, he would have had no idea about the pun. Even Andrews had a grin on his face.
Let’s steer away from names, please, especially when they aren’t here to defend themselves. And we all know that a stereotype can’t be just one person. Don’t we?
I don’t know about that. Jock was pretty much a walking, talking stereotypical footballer.
Chris, what do you think?
Strong, big thick neck, dumb, sexist, violent, drinks beer …
There was an outcry from the footy-heads in the room.
No, no, no way, sir! It’s changed from that.
This was coming from the winger on the St. Andrew’s winning side.
But we are talking about a “type,” Dion. Chris plays football so he wouldn’t be saying that about himself.
Groans and mutters from the class.
Yeah, but he’s different! Let’s get back to Jock again—he’s heaps more entertaining.
And the class cracked up for the second time.
That’s why stereotypes are so dangerous, sir, isn’t it?
It was a deliberate windup and as expected the class turned on Chris again, yelling out, Teacher’s pet! and Brownnose! Chris grinned, exactly the reaction he planned.
Do you think there is a positive image of the footballer, Dion?
If you’re talking about real football, then yeah, there is.
Groans started up again,
Urr … soccer isn’t real football!
Get over it!
Pull your head in!
Let him speak, please, gentlemen. Andrews silenced the group and looked in Dion’s direction.
Yeah, I think you could say loyal—
Someone else interrupted.
That’s rubbish, sir! No footballer in any code has loyalty anymore, it’s all about the cash.
Mr. Andrews told everyone to shut up. Only he would never say shut up—he only had to hold his hand up and the boys stopped.
All right, Dion, continue …
Loyal, educated … More reactions from the class. Umm … fit, quick.
OK. What about if you start to compare different codes? Is the same true of league or rugby or AFL?
The whole class started up now, reigniting another of St. Andrew’s long-standing traditions—football versus soccer rivalry.
No way, sir, soccer players are gentlemen in comparison to league players …
Yeah, that’s because they’re soft!
They are not soft, you idiot!
What would you know?
Loser!
I sat back and watched. At least this was making the lesson go more quickly. It was exactly the type of stuff Andrews loved to do in his classroom. Friday, period six, was about the only time he ever let us have a full-on discussion, though. Mostly he was too concerned with getting us through the syllabus. He was smart, though; it was these types of lessons and the fact that he let us have our say that kept everyone on side for the rest of the lessons. I think he did genuinely want to hear what we thought, but it wasn’t only that. He was big on getting us to see the world, and the people in it, in different ways. I just wasn’t sure it was going to work with some of the boys, especially the league players.
I only started to pay attention again when I heard the familiar groans from the class. It could only mean one thing—another assignment.
Your job over the next month is to collect images or representations of stereotypes and catalog them. What type of medium? Negative or positive? What messages are being given to the general public? How are these images deliberately manipulated by the media and to what purpose? I want you to create an extensive portfolio and then write a 1,500-word reflection on what you have learned about the power of stereotyping.
Everyone moaned and carried on into their bags as they sifted through empty lunch-box wrappers, personal stereos and PE gear to find their diaries.
Just as I was lifting my head he started on me.
I see you are awake, Will. I have a special task for you.
Every head in the classroom stared in my direction.
I want you to explore the stereotypes that surround those students who involve themselves in the school musical.
The class erupted into laughter mixed with Sucked in! and Ahh, Willo’s special!
He couldn’t be serious!
Come off it, sir, you can’t do that! No one else has been given a special assignment. That’s not fair.
Oh no, I think it is very fair, especially considering I am giving you the duration of the musical to complete the task, which means you have at least a month longer than the other boys.
Sir … I …
He walked out of the class, leaving me swearing at his fading back. What was his problem? As if I didn’t have to give up enough of my precious time for that bloody thing already, let alone have to study it.
If he thought I was going to do it he was wrong.
A car ride into uncharted waters
I woke up on Saturday morning to the sound of rain ricocheting off the Armstrong entertainment area. Mum was in her trekking-in-Nepal gear attacking the veggie patch again. She came in dripping and spent half an hour in the shower. She emerged from her room and began to walk around the house mumbling to herself. There was definitely something up. I thought a morning with her plants was meant to make her feel better.
My mum radar said to keep right away, as far away as possible, which I did in my bedroom with my guitar. But considering any minute now she would be at my door telling me it was time to go and be king of the geeks, I thought for once I’d be prepared. If only to give her absolutely no opportunity to sit on my bed and have one of her talks.
Will, it’s nine-thirty, haven’t you got to be at school by ten?
She stood in my doorway, looking shocked and even a little disappointed.
You’re ready?
What was going on with the woman? One minute I get the irresponsible, not meeting my commitments stuff and the next she looks like she’s going to cry because I am actually ready on time.
Yeah, I’m ready. I’m just about to go and get the bike.
Oh for goodness’ sake, Will, you can’t ride in this weather. I’ll drive you.
The radar system was ringing out its alarm. Car. Confined space with no way of escape.
No, Mum, I’ll be right.
Will, stop procrastinating. You’ll never be able to ride to school with your guitar in this weather.
I have before.
Oh, stop carrying on and get in the car.
But I wasn’t the one carrying on. For one of the only times in her life Mum started to jabber. She likes to talk but she never jabbers. In fact she can’t stand people who jabber.
The rain will be good for the veggie patch. It’s coming along well, don’t you think? Have you seen the little shoots of lettuce coming up? Another couple of months and we’ll be having fresh veggies every night. I was thinking that we might drop some over to the Rohannas—they’ve been so kind lately …
I switched off and began to think about the fact that I was going to be stuck in the St. Andrew’s College hall all day. I couldn’t be bothered going, I couldn’t be bothered playing and I certainly couldn’t be bothered communicating with a Year 7 reject no matter how much he needed the attention. I just want
ed to hang out at home. It was chucking down with rain, freezing cold, and all I wanted was a date with my bed, TV and guitar.
I suddenly noticed the jabbering had stopped. We’d pulled up at the lights and Mum was staring dead at me saying nothing.
OK, this was too weird. I eyed her nervously.
What’s going on, Mum?
I’m allowed to look at you, aren’t I? I am your mother.
She drove on in silence. That was about enough questions from me. Everything in my body told me to shut the hell up. The familiar wash cycle started in my gut.
Well, if you must know, I woke up thinking about your father. And when I was looking at you I was thinking of how much you remind me of him.
Silence.
But I didn’t want to say it because I knew you would react exactly like you are now.
The water continued to slosh around in my gut.
Then I thought about what we would have done on a rainy Saturday if he were still here. That made me think we hadn’t spent any time together lately.
Now that was where she was definitely lost. I had spent more time at home this year than I had since I’d reached puberty.
I know what you’re going to say, Will, but that’s different. You’re home, but you aren’t really there.
Mum was moving into uncharted waters and she knew it. She also knew that if she kept going I’d bail. I turned away from her and looked out the window. She pulled over to the side of the road. Her hand was on my shoulder and mine was on the door handle.
Will, I’m sorry. This is hard for me too, OK?
I released the handle and turned to look at her.
I just wanted to … There were tears in her eyes, hanging on the lids like big fat water bombs.
Well, I just wanted to make a connection, that’s all.
The bombs never dropped. They retreated with the act of speaking.
It’s all right, Mum. It’s no big deal.
We drove to school in silence. The tension was gone, replaced by a weary sadness.
Will?
It’s sweet, Mum, I said, grabbing my guitar. Thanks for the lift.
And then I did something I hadn’t done since I was eleven. I reached over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. It was worth it. I hadn’t seen the smile she gave me as she drove away for ages.
