Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain Read Free

packet of Weet-Bix, considering. Instead of another helping, he picks up the bowl and carries it to the empty sink. He opens the fridge door and stares inside.
    â€˜I’ve packed your lunch box, Hunter. It’s already in your bag.’
    â€˜Peanut butter?’ he asks.
    She nods. ‘And an apple.’
    Hunter closes the fridge door.
    â€˜Don’t forget to clean your teeth,’ she says.
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜So you’ll smell fresh.’
    â€˜I’m not kissing anyone!’ he says.
    â€˜For dental hygiene, so your teeth won’t fall out when you’re old,’ she says.
    Hunter doesn’t answer and walks back upstairs.
    â€˜Ha!’ Mrs Riley says, to no-one in particular.

3
    jesse
    The five mudbrick buildings of Kawawill School nestle at the foot of a long bush track. Each of the buildings is painted a different shade of ochre. In the bush surrounding the school there are swings and cubbyhouses and a climbing gym. There is no sports oval. The only grass is in the central area between the buildings.
    Students are dropped at the top of the hill by parents or buses and we wander four hundred metres down the track to the school grounds. At the end of the track is a sign with a ‘Thought for the Day’ handwritten on it.
    This Monday morning, I’m standing in front of the sign. It reads:
    Kind words are the easiest to speak.
    A voice booms behind me, ‘EMO!’
    â€˜Hi, Hunter,’ I say, without bothering to turn around.
    â€˜Whoa! Emo the Emu has eyes in the back of his head.’ Hunter slaps me on the shoulder. He reads the sign and then glances my way. ‘That’s bull. I can just as easily call you,’ he looks at my clothes, ‘the Black Assassin as I can call you Emo.’
    â€˜Or Jesse,’ I suggest.
    â€˜Now why would I bother calling you by your real name, Darkman?’
    â€˜Hunter, you are an endless font of meaningless names,’ I say.
    â€˜You said it, Bleakboy.’ Hunter looks me up and down once more, as if he’s storing away another twenty nicknames for lunchtime, then he walks into Doris.
    I don’t mean he walks into a person called Doris. Doris is the name of the administration building, in honour of the founder of our school Doris Leadmeir. The primary building is Arnold, named after Doris’s husband, who designed the school layout. Doris and Arnold, the people, are both long dead, but the buildings live on. The other buildings are: Edith, the kindergarten building (Edith Bricknell was the first kindy teacher); Lillian, the high school building (Lillian Roche was the woman who donated land for the school to be built on); and finally, Walter, the toilet block (Walter C Cuthbert was the first school janitor).
    The teachers tell us to use the names of the buildings, to remember the founders. The school doesn’t have a principal. Each year, one of the staff is elected by their fellow teachers as the team coordinator. This year it’s Larry Ames. Teachers must be addressed by their first name. Larry, never Mr Ames.
    And here he is now. Larry walks up the path, wearing three-quarter length bushwalking pants and a ‘Greenpeace’ t-shirt. He’s also wearing sandals, which, strictly speaking, students are discouraged from wearing. Because of snakes. Larry isn’t scared.
    He stands in front of the sign, takes off his floppy hat and bangs it against his knee, as if a nest of spiders is hiding under the brim.
    â€˜Hi, Larry.’
    â€˜G’day, Jesse.’ He nods at the sign. ‘That’s my slogan. Pretty good, hey?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer as he heads off to the high school. Sorry, I mean Lillian.
    Suddenly, dance music blares over the PA system, which means it’s time to go to class. Each month, a different class gets to choose the music. This month it’s year four. Next month it’s year nine, so I’m hoping for a serious headbanging