by Denis Martin
I had lunch with me. A canteen pie would’ve been better, but Dad was under Mum’s orders to make sure I took proper wholesome food with me each day. Even so, I don’t think she’d have been too rapt about the greasy half chicken I’d snaffled. Wondered what Dad was having – I hadn’t left much in the fridge. Hunger satisfied, I balled up the scraps and tossed them in a nearby bin. Then I lay back beneath the trees, hands behind my head, watching the clouds gathering above the far ridge. Some kids were kicking a rugby ball around not far away and every so often it would bounce near me. Then someone would come puffing up to retrieve it.
I kept thinking about the girl I’d seen on the ferry yesterday. I’d half-expected to see her at school, but if she was a Cooksville High student, she was keeping her head down. Anyhow, what would I say if I did bump into her?
“You wanna have some kicks?” It was Simon, stooping to gather up the ball. He gave it a hefty whack towards the other kids and then turned back to me, a questioning look on his face.
“Yeah … okay.” I’d have much rather stayed where I was, but I didn’t want to brush off his friendliness.
They’d broken themselves into two groups, kicking the ball back and forth. That would’ve been okay except the boss kid who’d been in maths was in our group, so it was pretty hard for anyone else to get a go. It was just kicks – no tackling or running with the ball – but he didn’t seem to understand that.
Everyone called him Burger. Good name for him too. Though maybe Pudding would’ve been even better. Eventually, the ball came within reach and I leaped up to take it at arm’s length, AFL-style. I was still in the air when Burger cannoned into me, dropping his shoulder hard. He obviously expected the ball to fly loose, but I’ve played a fair bit of Aussie Rules, so it stuck to my fingertips. There I was, sprawled at his feet clutching the ball and gazing up at his pudding face. Piggy eyes glared at me. Then he wrenched the ball free. It wasn’t difficult – I was so amazed, I let him take it.
He belted it back to the other group and then turned to me, sneering. “Haven’t played much footy have you? Catch it properly. Bring it into your chest.”
I was back on my feet by this time. Still amazed and pretty angry too. “Footy?” I shot back. “Football? You’d need a round ball for that. And you don’t catch it at all … not unless you’re in goal.” I knew it would get him going, but I couldn’t help myself.
“A soccer poof?” His face puckered into an even deeper sneer and he moved closer, standing right in front of me.
“No. I’ve played a bit of soccer, but I don’t reckon I’m a poof.”
He reached out and shoved me in the chest. Hard. A stiff-arm fend, and I stumbled backwards. “Well, most of them are poofs,” he said.
Regaining my balance, I ran my eyes over him. He was a lot bigger than me, but he looked soft, with a fairly thick layer of flab. Did I want to stir him up? I took a deep breath and steadied myself. “I guess you’d know. Pretty much into the touchy-feely stuff yourself, aren’t you?” I watched as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “But I’m not a poof,” I went on, “so maybe you could keep your hands off me.”
“You gettin’ smart?” He thrust his chin out at me, chest heaving.
“No, not really. You didn’t need to shouldercharge me though.” I forced a grin. “Let’s call it quits.” Inwardly, I was cursing. I didn’t need this. Winding up the school bully wasn’t going to do anything for me. You’re a bloody fool, Cully.
“Whadda they call you? Cully? Well, listen, Cully … you give me lip an’ I’ll do you. You’ll wish I’d just fed you through the shit shredder.” He glanced over his shoulder. The lunch break was nearly over and one of the teachers on duty was wandering nearby, so for the moment I was safe from either being done or shit-shredded. Whatever that was.
I was wild though. Wild with Burger, and even wilder with myself. First day at a new school and I’d dropped myself right in it. I could tell there was no way he would ever let things rest. And I knew he wouldn’t play fair if he decided to show me who was boss. Stupid thing was, I didn’t care who was boss. As long as it wasn’t me.
Still angry with myself, I made my way to afternoon class, clutching my student guide open at the map page. I wasn’t exactly lost, but I was gazing around to check my bearings. And that’s when I saw the girl.
She was sitting on an outside bench under the classroom windows. Just as I’d seen her on the jetty, eyes lowered, a glossy curtain of hair hiding most of her face. This time she was wired for sound, her head swaying rhythmically to the beat of whatever was on her iPod. Beside her, a blond girl was busy catching up on her homework, her folder balanced on one knee. They seemed to be together, and when the teacher appeared, one nudged the other and they both rose to their feet.
There were plenty of other kids milling around, mostly waiting for my English class. Everyone lined up and we filed inside. Somehow I’d been thinking of the girl I’d seen at the ferry as a loner, but she sat with the blond and a couple of other girls about halfway from the front. They were talking quietly and getting ready for work. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t recognised me – or even noticed me. I found a seat on the other side of the room.
We were being sorted into debating groups. I hate public speaking, but I knew I wasn’t going to get out of it. Teams were listed on the whiteboard, groups of four. At least I found out her name. Kat. I wasn’t in her team though. Ended up with Simon and a couple of girls I hadn’t seen before. And some homework – preparing arguments to support the moot Sport is beneficial to the health of society.
Weird name, Kat. Spelled with a K. Short for something, I supposed. Kathryn? Katrina? Katharsis? Anyway, her group was down as our opposition, taking the negative. At the end of the period I watched her leave. She filed out with all the others, and I didn’t see her again.
Not till I reached the ferry wharf.
It was starting to rain, so I moved inside the tiny shelter, and there she was. She raised her eyes as I sat down, and I nodded to her with a half-smile. I mean, we were classmates. She held my eye for a few seconds and tilted her head in reply. Not unfriendly, but no warmth either.
“Apparently, we’re in opposing teams,” I said hesitantly. “For the debates … the benefits of sport and all that …” I floundered to a stop and there was a long pause. Why the hell hadn’t I stayed outside in the rain?
“Looks like it,” she said. Then she turned away, rummaging around in her backpack and pulling out her earphones.
A bunch of younger kids suddenly burst in from the rain, and a few moments later the ferry eased alongside the wharf, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her again. Even if I’d been brave enough. I sure as hell was stupid enough.
Dad was waiting for me when we landed. He was in a foul mood because he’d had to stop and raise the hood of his convertible when the rain started. It was ages before he asked me how I’d got on at school, but I hardly noticed. I was looking at the station wagon parked about three cars along. I knew that wagon. A green Ford – the one Bullyboy had climbed into yesterday, after Kat had bolted onto the ferry. And here he was again, waiting to pick her up from school – he had to be her father.
But when we stopped at the shop to pick up a couple of frozen dinners, a cyclist rode past. She’d been wheeling her bike uphill from the jetty, but she hopped on and began pedalling when the road levelled off, her head down into the rain.
It was Kat.
A few seconds later the green Ford powered past in a hiss of spray, swerving over the centre-line to leave her plenty of space. Then it slithered around a bend and disappeared.
CHAPTER THREE
“Weird,” I muttered.
“Eh?”
I glanced at Dad. Kat must’ve been really hoofing it because we’d only just passed her. Still pounding the pedals into the rain, and no sign of the green Ford. But I hadn’t meant to speak aloud.
“Um … it’s a bit weird. That kid on the bike we just passed. She’s in one of my classes.”
“How’s that weird?”
“Well, I sort of bumped into her yesterday at the ferry. She was with an older bloke, her father I suppose, and they were having a row. But he was there today too, waiting … and then he just drove off and left her on her bike. And it’s pissing down. Doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe they’re still having a fight.” He tossed me a devious smile. “Plenty of times I’d have happily left you to pedal home in the rain.”
“Yeah, but …” I let it drop. Hadn’t planned to say anything about Kat and Bullyboy. I knew it would make me sound stupid. And anyway, Dad had other things on his mind. Like the car’s leaking hood. He’d been rabbiting on about it. Apparently, authors don’t earn enough to get things like that fixed properly, and the vinyl tape he’d used was peeling off. Nasty cold drips down the back of his neck. And to make matters worse, someone had nicked tonight’s cold chicken from the fridge, so we were both facing a meal of microwaved plastic Chinese. The idea of me biking home in the rain had cheered him up a bit. Even if he had been joking.
But it didn’t seem like much of a joke for Kat. What the hell was going on? I’d had it all sorted. Convinced myself that Bullyboy was her father. I mean, who else could he be? A kidnapper? Get real. He had to be her father – and they’d been having an argument. Had to be. And the gun? Had I actually seen a gun? No, of course I hadn’t. Just an overeager imagination. No kidnapping attempt and no gun. Just a rebellious kid and an overbearing parent.
So why had he powered past, leaving her to pedal home in a downpour? It was fine for Dad to joke about sending me out in the rain, but I couldn’t imagine Kat sharing his sense of humour. She’d looked miserable. Bullyboy could easily have stuck her bike in the back of that big Ford. So why hadn’t he? There was another thought too. If Kat was really biking home, then she probably lived pretty close to our cottage. And that was an interesting notion. I didn’t want to get caught up in her problems – but I wouldn’t mind getting to know her a bit better.
I didn’t see her the following day. Well, not to talk to. She was in class with me a couple of times, and driving home we passed her on her bike again. But she hadn’t been on the same ferry as me.
She niggled away at my mind. Not so much because of the weird goings on with her father – it was more because she was … not exactly beautiful, but somehow she had me all stirred up inside. I’d only caught glimpses of her face – she always wore her hair down. Even so, the picture I carried in my mind was one of those images you cling to in the dark when you’re waiting to fall asleep. Smooth skin, dark eyes and full lips that were always slightly parted, with a hint of whiteness behind. I’d never seen her smile, but I knew she’d have perfect teeth. And I’d enjoyed the way she moved that day I’d seen her on the jetty.
But if I spent my time daydreaming about Kat, the rest of the town had its mind on other things. The arson attacks had continued, rubbish bins and hedges being set alight every night. Then on Wednesday things began to get even more serious.
A few kids were gathered in an excited little huddle at the school gates. Simon was with them and he turned to me as I approached. “You hear about the fire, Cully?”
I shook my head. “No. Another one?”
“Yeah. A house this time. Completely gutted.”
“Jeez … where?”
“Along the waterfront. Early hours of this morning.”
“Hell. A house? And they reckon it was the firebug?”
“Gotta be. Someone saw a couple of kids slinking away just before it started.”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything. My mind was picturing a fire-blackened rubbish bin – the one I’d dropped a chocolate wrapper into a few days ago. It was easy to imagine a couple of no-hopers stuffing it with burning newspaper in the dead of night. A rubbish bin isn’t a house though. Houses are different. Really different.
After school I went around by the waterfront on my way to the ferry. Dad would’ve called me a ghoul, but I thought I ought to have a look. And it wasn’t a pretty sight. The whole building had been gutted. Blackened windows, charred timber and gaps in the roof where the fire crew had torn off the corrugated iron to get at the blaze. Someone’s home, but now it was only fit for demolition.
The frontage had been cordoned off and a burnt out car was being dragged from the garage. A crowd had gathered, mostly kids from school, and they were watching as the tow truck workers winched it onto their flat deck. It had been a sports soft-top, an Audi I think, but it was hard to tell. Now it was just a scorched shell.
I didn’t stop for long. I could see Burger there with a couple of other slimeballs, and anyway, it wasn’t worth missing a ferry for. Crossing over the road into the estuary reserve, I carried on towards the wharf. I thought they were dreaming if they reckoned it was arson, but there’s a hell of a difference between firing up a few rubbish bins and torching someone’s home. Everyone was going on about the kids that someone had seen. But they’d been running away. Why would they do that? Surely low-lives like that would stick around to enjoy the fun. They’d be in the crowd, dribbling with excitement.
I stopped suddenly, listening. There was something going on behind the bushes. Gasping … panting. A couple of kids having it off while no one was looking? Didn’t sound like much fun though. More like they were throttling each other. But whatever they were doing wasn’t any of my business. I glanced around and began to move off again towards the ferry. Then I caught a flash of colour in the gap between a couple of flax bushes. It was a girl. A girl in Cooksville High uniform kneeling on the grass. She had her back to me, but she wouldn’t have noticed me anyway. She was puking her heart out. Retching, heaving, spitting, retching again. And groaning. Definitely none of my business. Watching someone having a chunder doesn’t rate as a favoured pastime.
Then I realised it was Kat. And that changed everything – my brain cells died and common sense shrivelled to nothing as testosterone surged into power. I pushed my way through the flax.
“You all right?” I’m the kind of twat who’d ask a quadriplegic if they enjoyed dancing. You all right? Of course she wasn’t bloody all right. She was clawing at the earth and trying to sick up every meal she’d had for a month. And the one thing she didn’t need was company. Back off, Cully – let people sort out their own problems.
But I couldn’t help myself.
I saw her tense at the sound of my voice, and then she retched again. Twisted slightly to one side and lowered her head to the ground.
“Can I help?” The stink of puke was awful, and I took a step backwards.
There was no response for a few moments. She was rocking her body gently back and forth, arms splayed, her forehead on the grass taking her weight. I was losing my nerve. Then she rolled to one side, levered herself up on an elbow and glanced up at me.
“Yes … be a big help if you left me alone,” she muttered, lowering her eyes. “I’m okay.”
She didn’t look okay. She was shivering, and a trickle of drool hung from her chin. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Honestly, I’m fine. Just leave me alone. Go away … please.”
A tiny glimmer of common sense returned. Quit while you’re ahead. I turned away, faltering, and then changed my mind. “You’re not okay,” I said, trying to sound staunch. “You look bloody awful. I can’t just walk away and leave you like that. Nobody could.”
She didn’t say anything but her eyes narrowed. Dark slits glaring at me.
“What is it with you?” I asked. Took a deep breath and ploughed ahead, lying through my teeth. “I’m not trying to barge into your business. It’s just … you look like you need help … and I’m the only one around. D’you want some water?” I took the bottle from my bag and held it out. Sir Galahad and a damsel in distress.
She stared at me for a second and then nodded. Held her hand up for the bottle. I watched as she cupped some into one hand and splashed it onto her face. Then she swilled some around in her mouth and spat into the bushes
.
I knew I was a cheat, but it was a relief to see those barriers come down. And it felt good – she was letting me into her life. Almost as if she was baring herself before me, sharing things you don’t let everyone see. Even so – do you really want to share her problems, Cully? Think about it.
“Thanks.” But still no sign of a smile.
“D’you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head and made as if to offer the water bottle back. Then she had second thoughts. “I’ll get you another one … it’s got my goobies all over it.”
I grinned, casual like. “Doesn’t matter. Keep it.” I squatted down on my haunches, oozing gallantry. “Sure you’re okay now? Something you ate?”
“Yeah. Guess so.” She heaved herself onto her knees and gathered her backpack to her chest. “No … no it wasn’t really.” Her eyes were on me properly now – for the first time, I thought. “It was … it was that meathead. Brian King. Over there.” She nodded in the direction of the fire-gutted house. “He was laughing and joking about it … about the car.” Her bottom lip quivered a little and she swallowed. “Couldn’t stand it.” She swallowed again and lowered her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Not your problem.”
“It’s okay. Anything I can do?”
She shook her head and stood up. Swaying slightly and pale. “No. I’m fine now.” She moved unsteadily over to one of the park benches and sat down, resting her head in her hands. Somehow I didn’t feel excluded so I sat down too, leaving a space between us. She didn’t object, but didn’t say anything either.
“Who did you say?” I wanted to break the silence. “Brian? Who’s he?”
“Brian King. You know, the flesh mountain.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“You mean Burger?”
“Yes, Burger. Burger King.” She turned her head, eyeing me. “God’s gift to rugby. Didn’t you try to pick a fight with him the other day?”
“Um … not really.” I felt ridiculously pleased she knew about that, but also a bit embarrassed.
