by Pat Flynn
‘Okay if I come in?’ asks Lacey.
I pretend to think for a second. ‘Sure.’
She closes the door behind her and glides in like a fairy. A hot fairy. My heart starts thumpity-thumping and my blood starts pumpity-pumping.
‘You didn’t answer me before,’ she says.
‘About what?’
‘About how your date went.’
‘Oh.’ I casually put the comic book on the floor, covering a pair of undies. ‘Well, not the best, actually. You know …’
I shake my head like I’ve said too much.
‘What?’
I look away, trying to work the moment. ‘Well, me and Ash … We’re sorta having problems right now. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how much longer we’ll be together.’ I give a couple of short, sharp sniffs.
She sits on my bed. ‘Really? What’s going on?’
‘Well. Relationships are tricky, Lace. I s’pose Ash and me, we’ve just got … different interests.’
‘Is that why you want to break up? ’Cause you’re different?’
She’s fishing for something and it’s time I threw her a line. ‘No, there’s something else. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. Not even Kane.’
She wriggles closer and her foot touches my foot. I don’t pull away.
‘I swear on my favourite Bratz doll,’ she says.
I didn’t really need to hear that. Still, I keep going, speaking low. ‘Well, I think I like someone else.’
Her eyes grow big. ‘Really? Who?’
I pause for a bit, teasing her. ‘I can’t tell you that. Sorry.’
‘Does this girl like you too?’
‘Hmmm. I’m not positive but … I hope so.’
Our eyes meet and a bolt of electricity jumps between us. We hold the stare for a second longer than we should.
She looks away. ‘Why don’t you break up with Ashleigh and ask the other girl out? I’m sure she’ll say yes.’
Yes! This is the information I’ve been hoping for. But, unfortunately, breaking up with Ash is not that simple.
‘I would,’ I say, ‘but it’s not that simple.’
She nods her head and looks into my eyes again. The electricity bolt sparks at an even higher voltage.
I get an idea. Why not have my cake and eat another one too?
Slowly but surely I move in for the kill and she doesn’t pull away. It looks like I am going to get kissed again. Cool!
My lips are only a few centimetres from her face when Lacey puts her hand on my chest, stopping me. ‘You know I’d never kiss someone who wasn’t my boyfriend, don’t you?’
‘Of course. I was just getting an eyelash off your cheek.’ I pinch the skin under her eye and pretend to flick something on to the floor.
Darn!
She stays close to my face, teasing me. ‘If a boy I like wants to kiss me, he needs to become single first and then ask me out. That’s not complicated. It’s simple.’
Her lips are big and soft and I’d love to hook them between mine and not let go. ‘It’ll happen,’ I say. ‘Trust me.’
She puckers her lips and kisses the air slowly, only a spaghetti strand away from my mouth. It’s like getting a look at paradise but not being allowed in.
*
It’s lunchtime and I’m definitely not in paradise. I’m in the library. Ash has dragged me to the enviro group, known around school as The Boogers. I didn’t understand that nickname until Ash explained it to me – they’re both green.
Surprise, surprise, most of the members are the same reading and writing nerds. Kane’s here, too, sitting next to Astroid. He’s working it big time.
There’s a different teacher in charge, though. Mr Massingham lives in the mountains in a house he built himself, he wears tie-dye T-shirts to school, and his favourite expression is ‘Righteous, dude!’ In other words, he’s a trippy hippie.
‘Righteous, dude! This is a most excellent turnout,’ Mr Massingham says, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. ‘I’ve been waiting a long time for environmental issues to become cool and it looks like that day has finally come.’
I could tell him that Kane’s only here to pick up chicks, I’m here so I don’t get beaten up, and the others are here because they suck at handball. But I don’t. Although Mr Massingham’s a pretty good bloke, he can be tough as nails. I heard he’s been arrested about 50 times.
‘Okay, dudes and dudettes. How about we get this meeting underway. Any ideas for what we should do today?’
Unlike most teachers, Mr Massingham believes in sharing the power, even at school. Talk about weird. Last year he taught us science and we spent the first week making class rules. My suggestion – we must blow up at least one thing every lesson – only just missed out.
‘I think we should all discuss global warming,’ Astroid says in a loud voice. ‘It’s the most important and dangerous issue of today and governments are doing jack-all about it.’
‘Hmmm.’ Mr Mass nods his head slowly. ‘I like your passion. Reminds me of how I was in the seventies. Anyone want to respond?’
‘I totally agree with Astrid,’ says Kane. He gives his best cheesy grin. ‘Global warming is the number one bad guy and good people like us need to shoot it down.’ Kane points his finger in the air and goes, ‘Bang!’ Then he looks at Astrid and blows some imaginary smoke away from his finger-gun.
She looks away.
I snigger.
‘Do you have an opinion, Tony?’ says Mr Mass.
‘Yeah, I do.’ Ashleigh gives me a warning look but I’m not taking it. Here’s my chance to escape into the global warming arms of Lacey.
‘What is it, dude?’
‘Well, I don’t see what’s so bad about the world getting a little hotter, ay? Like, for one, everyone will have a better suntan.’
Kane chuckles.
Astrid shoots him a nasty glare. ‘How can you laugh at that? It’s that sort of uninformed opinion that has got the world into the dire predicament it’s in today!’
Kane swallows his smile and tries to suck up. ‘That’s why I was laughing. Because Rossy is so uninformed.’
‘Okay, dudes, let’s settle down,’ says Mr Mass. ‘Nothing is wrong with someone trying to lighten things up. When I was chained to a bulldozer for 36 hours I was glad that a funny guy was chained next to me. It made the time pass quicker.’
Why would someone chain themself to a bulldozer? A monster truck, maybe. But a bulldozer?
The room’s still buzzing so Mr Mass raises his hand for quiet. ‘Why don’t we look at what we can do right here in our school? A good friend of mine once said, “Think global, act local.” ’
There’s silence until Ashleigh speaks up. ‘What about we do something to stop littering? So many kids in this school throw rubbish on the ground and it’s so disgusting. I hate people who litter.’
‘Great idea,’ says Mr Mass. ‘We can come up with a campaign—’
He’s interrupted by the bell. That’s the trouble with sharing the power. Not much stuff gets done.
‘—next week,’ he finishes. ‘Thanks to everyone for a lively discussion.’
When we get outside I get a great idea. In my hand is an empty Breaka bottle. With the right move my relationship with Ashleigh could be over before I can burp out the last of the chocolate bubbles.
We’re walking past a group of younger kids – wannabe tough boys and giggling girls – when I decide to go for it. However, I have to make sure my girlfriend sees me in action.
‘Hey, Ash,’ I say. ‘What have you got now?’
She looks at me like I’m stupid. ‘SOSE, of course. We’re in the same class, remember?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I casually toss the bottle into a bush. ‘Do you know if we had any homework?’
; She stops dead. ‘What did you just do?’
I play dumb. ‘Ummm … asked if we had any SOSE homework.’
‘No. Not that. What did you just do with that bottle?’
I hold out my empty hands. ‘What bottle?’
Her left eye starts to twitch, which only happens when she’s really annoyed.
This is good.
‘The bottle you just threw in the bush,’ she says through gritted teeth. ‘Made of plastic that will take hundreds of years to break down. The one that will probably get washed into a river, float down to the ocean and end up killing a turtle.’
‘Why?’ I say. ‘Can’t turtles drink milk?’
She goes red. I may have pushed it too far. I brace myself, ready to get slapped, then dumped. Or maybe I’ll get dumped, then slapped.
But before she can do either, a boy pops out of the bushes like one of those army guys – only instead of camo gear he’s wearing a green school shirt. ‘I think you dropped this.’ He’s holding my bottle.
What a goody-goody school shoes.
But, hang on, I know this boy. His name is Joey Mulligan and, like his older bro David, he’s not a goody-goody at all. He’s a baddy-baddy.
‘You shouldn’t litter,’ he says to me. ‘Now put this in the recycle bin in the undercover area.’
Yeah, as if I’m gonna do that.
‘Or else we’ll have to kill you,’ he adds, pointing to his posse.
Four boys are standing a few metres away, their caps on crooked and their school pants hanging around their bum-cracks. They look small but tough. Like a tribe of pygmy warriors.
I take the bottle and shake my head. There’s something wrong with the world when tough little tackers threaten good people like me for littering.
Joey goes back to his gang and Mr Massingham steps out from the end of the bush and gives him five. I’m not talking about a hand slap, either. I’m talking about five bucks!
What the hell is going on?
Then Mr Mass walks over to us, a serious look on his face. It looks like I’ll not only get myself dumped for littering but I’ll get a detention, too. Oh, well. I’d rather hang out in the detention room at lunchtime than the library, anyway. It gives you more cred.
‘Great work, dude!’ Mr Mass whispers to me.
Ashleigh raises her eyebrows. ‘I don’t get it …’ she says.
Neither do I, but I say nothing and grin. It’s one of Rossy’s new rules: When confused, act amused.
Besides, now he’s up close I’d rather not get on Mr Mass’s bad side. When it comes to detecting crazy streaks I’ve got a sixth sense and it’s telling me that Mr Mass has one the size of the Amazon.
‘Well,’ Mr Mass says to Ash, ‘I’m sure your fella here will fill you in on all the details.’
He looks at me. So does Ashleigh.
‘I could …’ I say. ‘But I’ll let you do it, sir.’
‘You sure?’ Mr Mass asks.
‘Positive.’
‘Fine with me,’ he says. ‘You see, Tony must have heard me give that group a huge dressing-down for littering.’
He looks at me for confirmation.
I nod. ‘It was massive.’
Mr Mass continues the story. ‘I told them that if I saw them litter one more time, I’d make them pick up rubbish every lunch hour until Year Twelve. But I also told them that if I saw them do something good for the environment, I’d reward them. I believe in the stick and the carrot.’
Ash goes ‘ahhh’ but I’m still puzzled. What’s a carrot stick got to do with anything?
‘So, when Tony threw his bottle away in front of the group,’ Mr Mass says, ‘it gave their ringleader, Joey, a chance to impress me. And I must say, he did.’
Mr Mass holds out his hand and I give him the bottle. In exchange, he hands me five bucks!
‘You impressed me too, Tony.’ He smiles. ‘Very quick thinking indeed. Why don’t you buy your pretty little lady a chocolate chip cookie after school – organic, of course.’
He walks away.
Ash turns to me. ‘That’s what I love about you, Tone. You’re always surprising me.’
‘I surprise myself sometimes.’
Ash takes my hand and we walk to SOSE in silence. My mind is still trying to figure out what the heck just happened, but all I come up with is that my plan of getting Ash to break up with me has backfired again.
But, on the bright side, at least I made five bucks. I look at it as I walk. It’s purple and smooth and a quarter of what I need to go to the monster truck show that’s coming to town. At least something good has come out of today.
Then, quick as a fish, Ash snatches the money from my hand.
‘Hey!’ I say.
‘I walk right past the organic shop on the way home,’ she says. ‘I’ll buy us both a cookie and bring them tomorrow.’ She gives my hand a squeeze. ‘Thanks a lot, Tone. You’re such a sweetie.’
I’m about to say something sour when I see Devo on the landing above us, looking down. He points a finger at me and I hold my tongue.
‘No worries, honey,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘No worries.’
Poetry in Motion
Christine Bateson is no teacher. You can tell because she doesn’t wear any shoes, just a bright summer dress and a toe ring.
The visiting poet sits cross-legged on a desk and smiles down at us. ‘Close your eyes, everyone.’ Her voice is sweet like syrup. ‘I want you to think about the last thing that made you cry.’
That’s easy. During maths earlier, Gavin Fox did a huge blow-off that had me in tears.
‘Now,’ she says, ‘I want you to write down the word “like” and then finish the sentence by comparing that sad event with something you can see, hear, taste, feel or smell. Don’t think too hard, just write down the first image that comes into your head.’
Also easy. I scribble it down.
She gives us some more instructions and then says, ‘Pens down, everyone. You’ve just written a poem. Congratulations!’
A poem? The last one of those I wrote went something like, ‘There was a young boy from New York. Who stabbed himself with a fork.’ Unfortunately, I never got to finish it. Miss Mason ripped it out of my hands, just because I was being creative in the back of the SOSE textbook.
‘Would anyone like to read their poem out to the group?’ Christine asks.
Unfortunately for her the two biggest nerds – Brains and Astroid – are busy. Brains is on a science excursion and Astroid’s got her hands full at the back of the room – they’re all over Kane. She decided to give him a chance after he went to a protest march with her and held up a sign that said ‘Global Warming Is Not Cool!’ No one volunteers to read their poem, so Christine looks my way and smiles.
‘How about you, good-looking?’
I turn around but there’s no one behind. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
The librarian shifts uncomfortably in her seat, like she’s got a staple in her butt.
‘Righteo,’ I say. ‘Here goes.’ I put on my most manly voice and pray it doesn’t do anything stupid.
‘Like the rat that died under my bed
Around the room it spread
Gavin laughed and said
Baked beans on bread!
I wanted to punch him in the head.’
I nod to let her know I’m finished.
It’s quiet, except for the librarian shifting around again. Maybe she’s got worms?
‘What’s your name?’ the poet asks me.
‘Tony. But you can call me Rossy.’ I wouldn’t mind being friends with her. For a hippie poet, she’s pretty hot.
‘Well, Tony …’
Uh-oh. She used my real name. I’m in trouble.
‘That was great!’ she says. ‘It was ful
l of life and humour and goes to show – a fart in the classroom can be the perfect topic for a poem.’
Kids laugh and the tension is broken. Even the librarian gives a small smile. This poetry stuff isn’t as bad as I thought.
For the rest of the session, Christine helps students get ready for the competition. The closing date is tomorrow so most kids have written their poem and just have to change a few words here and there.
I haven’t even started mine. That’s because I couldn’t be bothered doing it. But now I’m reconsidering. Especially when Christine kneels beside me and starts whispering in my ear.
‘What would you like to write about, Tony?’
‘Ummm … not sure, Miss.’
‘Call me Christine.’
Cool. We’re on a first-name basis.
‘I’m sorry I’m not calling you Rossy,’ she says. ‘But Tony’s a beautiful name. Do you mind?’
‘No probs.’ I make a devil sign with my fingers and start rapping. ‘My name is Tony. I’m no show pony.’
She gives her head a shake and her fringe flicks her huge eyelashes. ‘You know, poetry doesn’t have to rhyme. In fact, it’s often better if it doesn’t.’
‘Really?’ I don’t think anyone’s told Eminem that.
‘Yes, really. And there’s no right or wrong in writing poetry either. You can do whatever you want.’
I grin. ‘I’m going to tell our English teacher that next time she gives me a D minus.’
Christine laughs. ‘You’re funny.’ Then she turns serious. ‘But Tony, I think you’re using humour to deflect your real feelings. To be a poet you need to reach deep inside yourself and pull up powerful emotions. May I?’
Before I know what she’s asking she takes my hand. Whoa! This poetry stuff is getting better all the time.
‘Hmmm,’ she says, rubbing a finger across my palm. ‘I can see you’re wrestling with a dilemma.’
Hey, I think. How does she know that?
She studies my hand like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. ‘You’re torn between two opposing forces – yin and yang.’
I’m not sure who those two Chinese blokes are, but the opposite stuff is true. Ashleigh’s got dark hair and Lacey’s a blonde.
