by Des Hunt
He looked down at me as if I was a dog turd stuck to his boot. ‘Can’t hack it, eh Kelly?’
I tried to be reasonable. ‘There must be someone who knows how to be hooker.’
‘You’re missing the point, Kelly. Sport is about learning new skills. I’m giving all of you playboys the opportunity to learn something new.’
I felt a spark of anger. ‘Then why don’t you coach us so that we know what we’re doing?’
His face darkened. ‘Are you questioning the methods of a prefect, Kelly?’
‘I’m just suggesting there must be a better way.’
‘Listen, Kelly,’ he snarled, ‘at Franklin nobody challenges a prefect. Nobody! And if you don’t like that, then go to another school. None of us want an Australian here anyway.’
Chapter 8
When I got home that afternoon, I worked with Nana until it was dark. Of course she asked me how school had been, so I told her, giving all the details.
‘So it’s no different to any other school, is it?’ she said, when I’d finished. ‘I bet there were smokers and bullies back in Wollongong.’
Yes, I had to admit that there had been smokers, and also some bullying. ‘But it wasn’t like here,’ I explained. ‘In Wollongong the teachers tried to stop the bullies. Here, they seem to encourage it.’
Nana nodded. ‘It’s part of the way these private schools work. They establish a system where students can develop responsibility.’ She thought for a while. ‘It’s a good system, but I suspect Franklin hasn’t quite got it right yet. Give them time and they’ll get better at it.’
I said nothing, mainly because I was annoyed by her response. She’d basically told me to shut up and take it, which is what I’d already decided to do, but it would have been nice to have had a little sympathy.
Later, when my parents quizzed me about school, I said nothing about Hotchkins, telling them only the good things: the lessons; the cooked lunch; and my new friend, Afi Moore.
This last bit was particularly well received. ‘See,’ said Mum, ‘I told you you’d soon make some new friends.’
Dad nodded his agreement, before adding, ‘Friends that are much better than some you’ve had before.’ From the tone of his voice, there was no doubting he really meant one particular friend I’d had before.
Tuesday at school passed without incident, mainly because Afi and I successfully merged with the rest of the Year Nine students. It wasn’t too difficult: you accepted orders from prefects without question, and complained only to your friends. The staff were friendly enough, but clearly thought that they were there to teach, not to sort out student problems.
The big event that day was that our Wollongong stuff arrived. By dinnertime my computer was up and running, ready for my first Skype session with Dean.
When the image first came through from his bedroom in Wollongong, there was no sign of Dean. Instead the camera was aimed at a small statue — a metal pelican.
‘Steel Pelicans forever!’ yelled Dean from the background. Then his head appeared behind the statue.
I was surprised by the surge of emotion I felt when I saw him. I began laughing from the joy of it. Dean must have thought I was laughing at the pelican, because he said, ‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘It looks great.’
‘I had two of them made,’ he said. ‘You’ll get yours when I come over in July.’
‘Have you booked the flights yet?’ I asked.
‘Nah, not yet. But I reminded Dad today, and he said he’d do it soon.’ Then his smile faded. ‘It’s just that they might not be going to Queenstown this winter.’
‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.
Dean shrugged and looked away. ‘Nothing much. They’re just too busy.’
While I was processing this, he pushed the pelican to one side and adjusted the camera so I could see more of him.
‘OK!’ he said. ‘So what’s school like?’
I told him.
After that we got onto what he’d been doing, which seemed to be very little apart from surfing. Half an hour later, we’d exhausted everything worth saying, and after arranging to play a game the following night we signed off.
I sat staring unseeingly at the screen, thinking about the session. something hadn’t been quite right with Dean. It wasn’t anything he’d said, but rather the way he’d been tapping his fingers on the table all the time. I knew him well enough to know that something was bugging him.
I also thought about my side of the conversation, thinking about the things I hadn’t said. I’d intentionally not said anything about the newspaper article, because I knew it would lead to an argument. But there was something else I’d also left out — I hadn’t once talked about Afi.
By Wednesday morning I’d sorted out how to work the bus so that I could sit with Afi. When I got on, I sat at the front instead of moving to the back where the rest of the boys sat. This meant that when Afi got on at Pukekohe he could sit next to me, giving us twenty minutes together before we reached school.
Nothing much happened during class time that day. It wasn’t until after school that things went wrong.
Wednesday was practice day. When classes finished, all those students who played inter-school sport had their practices. Those who weren’t in a team, like Afi and me, were expected to do school work until the bus left, which was an hour and a half later than usual.
That was fine by us, except no one told us where to work, so we went searching for a quiet place. I wanted to be out of sight of the practising teams, because I knew that those who were good at sport often picked on those who weren’t.
Our search took us to new territory behind the science block, where we were surprised to find a bird aviary. Finches were chirping and flitting from perch to perch, with tiny quail pecking away at the ground.
‘What do you think they use them for?’ asked Afi.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Experiments?’
‘What? Dissections?’ he said. ‘Doubt it!’
‘Wasn’t there some guy who studied finches?’ I said.
Afi nodded. ‘Charles Darwin. He used them in his theory of evolution. But I don’t think these finches could be used that way.’
In the silence that followed, we became aware of voices nearby. While they seemed close the sounds were muffled, making it impossible to work out what was being said.
I looked around, worried that it might be prefects looking for us. I saw no one, and yet the voices continued. They seemed to be coming from a concrete water tank that was a few metres from the aviary.
‘They’re in there,’ whispered Afi.
‘Can’t be,’ I said with a giggle, ‘or we’d hear gurgling.’
‘It’s not a water tank,’ said Afi. ‘It’s a storeroom. I saw a door on the other side.’
As he finished saying that, the voices became clearer.
‘…more next week,’ said a croaky, male voice.
‘Not too many,’ said another voice, ‘or I’ll have trouble getting rid of them all.’
‘Take them into town and sell them in pubs. You’ll find plenty of smokers there.’
The reply was drowned by the clanging of a metal door being slammed shut.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Afi.
But it was too late. A man and a woman were already visible around the side of the tank. When they saw us, they stopped and stared.
Before anyone had a chance to speak, a third person became visible. It was Brett Hotchkins, swinging a big bunch of keys. For a moment his eyes went wide with fear. Then, just as quickly, they narrowed to angry slits.
‘What are you doing here?’ he snarled.
‘Looking for a place to study,’ replied Afi.
‘You’re supposed to be in the library.’
Afi shrugged. ‘Nobody told us.’
‘Well I’m telling you now. This place is out of bounds. Now get out of here!’
I moved to go around the concrete tank.
/> ‘Not that way!’ screamed Hotchkins. He pointed past the aviary. ‘Go ’round the end of the building.’
We did as we were told. But as soon as we were out of view, Afi pulled me in against the wall.
‘Let’s listen,’ he whispered.
For a time there was nothing. Then the man spoke: ‘Do you think they heard?’
‘Nah,’ replied Hotchkins, but he didn’t sound convinced.
‘What if they did?’ asked the man.
‘They’re Year Nine day-boys,’ said Hotchkins with contempt. ‘No one will believe what they say.’
‘You better make sure they don’t,’ said the man. ‘Or you’ll be the one who pays.’
Nothing more was said, and a short time later we heard the back door to the science block open and close.
I waited a few more minutes, before suggesting that we double back. I wanted to have a look at what was in that concrete shed.
We didn’t get to see inside, because the metal door was padlocked both top and bottom. But we did get some idea of what was in there. Above the door was a label: Dangerous chemicals store. And when we moved around further we saw three chemical warning signs screwed to the concrete: Oxidizing agents!, Corrosive chemicals!, and Poisons!
‘Which of those are they dealing in?’ I asked, half to myself.
‘Cigarettes,’ said Afi. ‘That guy talked about smokers. Bet they’re stolen cigarettes.’
‘Stored amongst poisons?’ I said.
‘Maybe it’s the right place for them,’ said Afi, with feeling. ‘I keep telling my dad they’re full of poisons, but he still keeps smoking them.’
‘What should we do?’ I asked.
Afi turned and looked at me. ‘We do nothing!’ he growled. ‘I worked hard to get into this school, and I’m staying here.’
I nodded. It was like Hotchkins said: we were Year Nine day-boys — if we said anything, we would be the ones in trouble, not them.
Chapter 9
Life continued pretty uneventfully for the next couple of weeks. During the day, my friendship with Afi developed, and at night I either Skyped Dean or played against him on Xbox Live.
My two friends were so different. Afi usually spoke only after he’d thought through what he was going to say. Then, when he did speak, it would be in a voice that was often so quiet that I struggled to hear. Dean, however, seemed to get louder each time we Skyped. Two or three times each session, he would suddenly yell: ‘Steel Pelicans forever!’ Then he would wait for me to do the same. I found it embarrassing; it had never been like this back in Wollongong.
I much preferred the evenings when we played games, as they required no visual or voice contact. But even there, Dean had changed. I began winning more games than I lost, which had never happened before. something was wrong in his life, but, whatever it was, he would not — or could not — tell me.
At school, Afi and I had refined our strategy of staying out of trouble. It was simple: keep away from Brett Hotchkins. At lunchtime and interval, we would go to the library or the computer room — places where Hotchkins was never seen. Sports period was harder as there was no way of avoiding him. Our method there was to play as hard as we could and hope that others made the mistakes. It generally worked, and by the end of week three we were beginning to like the place.
Of course we hadn’t entirely forgotten the episode at the dangerous-chemicals store. Doing nothing didn’t mean we weren’t curious. It was Afi who got a bit more information. He was duty boy during week three. This meant two days of doing his schoolwork at a desk near the school office so, if any of the administrators wanted a chore done, he could do it.
On day two of his duty, Afi was asked to take a message to Mrs Redfern, the cleaner in the science block. The office lady said she wouldn’t be difficult to find, as she was the only woman who worked in science. Afi had no problem locating her, and discovered she was the woman who had been with Hotchkins and the man. So she had a reason to be at the dangerous-chemicals store. But that still didn’t explain why the other two were there.
On the Monday of week four, Afi got on the bus and sat beside me as usual. When we were moving, he asked, ‘What are you doing this weekend?’
I shrugged. ‘Working with Nana, I suppose. Why?’
‘Dad’s taking me fishing. He said you could come if you want.’
I felt a thrill of excitement. ‘That sounds great,’ I said. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘Port Waikato. It’s not far from school. If you follow the road alongside the river until you reach the sea, you’re at Port Waikato. We’ve got a bach there.’
‘Got a what?’ I asked.
Afi smiled. ‘A house at the beach is called a “bach”. Ours isn’t exactly a house. It’s a section with a couple of caravans and a shed. We go there most holidays and several weekends in between.’
‘Have you got a boat?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, we fish from the shore. You’ll see how, if you come.’
We were silent then as each of us thought about spending the weekend together. I was both excited and a little anxious. The only other family I’d stayed with was the Steeles, which, apart from them being richer, was much the same as ours. I suspected it would be quite different with Afi’s family.
I’d expected Mum and Dad to be unsure about me spending a weekend with a family they’d never met, and was surprised when it didn’t seem to worry them. In fact, they were delighted with the idea.
‘That’s great,’ said Mum. ‘You’ll be able to go surfing.’
‘Maybe not, Mum,’ I replied. ‘Afi’s not a surfer.’
‘You could teach him,’ she suggested.
I nodded, although I was unconvinced.
‘I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do anyway,’ said Dad. ‘We used to go there a lot when I was a kid. It was a wonderfully wild place back then. If it hasn’t changed too much, you’ll have a great time.’
‘Is it like the beach in Wollongong?’ I asked.
Dad chuckled. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘It’s a black iron-sand beach. They all are around here. It’s opposite where we take sand for the mill. About the only thing it has in common with the beach in Wollongong is that they’re both on the Tasman Sea.’
‘And surfing,’ added Mum. ‘There was something in the local paper saying it was the second-best surfing beach along this part of the coast.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll check it out. Maybe we could go there when Dean comes over in the holidays?’
All of a sudden the friendly atmosphere changed. Mum looked away and Dad took a deep breath, which he exhaled slowly.
‘We’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,’ he said.
‘Talk about what?’ I said.
‘About Dean coming over.’ A long pause. ‘We don’t think it’s such a good idea.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he has a bad influence on you,’ said Mum.
‘If you’re talking about the fireworks,’ I said, ‘then forget it. That’s all over.’
‘It’s not just the fireworks,’ Mum replied. ‘It’s all the other things as well.’
‘Such as?’ I demanded.
‘Such as stealing a plastic snow man and putting it on top of a tree,’ said Dad.
I guess my jaw must have dropped, because a little smile of satisfaction crept over Dad’s face.
‘How did you find out about that?’ I asked in a quieter voice.
‘Aimee sent a link to the newspaper article. She said Dean had been bragging that you two did it.’
Thanks, Sis!
Out loud I said, ‘I didn’t have anything to do with stealing the snow man. Dean said he’d got it from his mother’s office.’
‘That might be so,’ said Dad, ‘but by putting it up on the tree you became part of the crime.’
‘And if you’d fallen, you would have been killed,’ said Mum. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘It was no big deal.’
> ‘Oh yes it was,’ said Dad. ‘I bet it was a big deal for the people who had to get it down.’
‘That’s if they’ve got it down,’ I mumbled.
‘It’s down,’ said Dad. ‘Aimee told us in her latest email.’
It sounded as though Aimee was becoming a right little snitch.
‘It’s too late to cancel Dean’s visit,’ I said. ‘They’ve already bought the tickets.’
‘No, they haven’t,’ said Dad. ‘I rang David Steele today. He agreed with me that it was probably best if Dean didn’t come.’
‘So that’s it!’ I said, getting angry again. ‘You’ve got it all decided. Dean Steele can’t be my friend anymore.’
Neither of them said anything.
I stood up. ‘Is it all right for me to go and use my computer?’ I asked, sarcastically. ‘Or have you stopped that as well?’
Again, neither of them spoke.
I glared at them for a moment, trying to think of some comment that would hurt. But nothing came, and the best I could do was slam the door as I stormed out of the room.
The Skype session with Dean that night was a disaster. He already knew about the cancelled trip. His father had told him over dinner. I’d expected to find him angry and ready to fight the decision, but he appeared to accept it as inevitable.
During the whole session it seemed as if I was talking to a different person. There was no shouting of ‘Steel Pelicans forever!’, nor any talk about what he’d been doing. It didn’t seem right.
In the end I suggested that we have a game, and work out our anger with some action.
‘Nah,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘When then?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘Never!’ Then I heard a mouse click, and a moment later his image disappeared.
I sat there in shock, staring at the blank screen, unable to believe what had happened. He’d disconnected! Dean Steele had hung up on me.
As I began to understand what this meant, my feeling of shock slowly turned to sadness. Our friendship of ten years was over. I think I would have been able to take it better if we’d gone out with a big angry, yelling match. But for it to finish with a shrug and a click … It was as if the ten years we’d known each other hadn’t really meant anything; that the memory of all the things we’d done together could be wiped away without explanation; that the closeness we’d felt as we watched the sunrise on that last morning in Wollongong had been nothing but an illusion.
