Marked Read Free

my timetable with me, asked if there was anything else I wanted to know, and then took me to class. No fuss. No spiel about how wonderful my new school was. No counselling. Just what I needed.
    It was a maths session and like any other class I’d ever been introduced to. Keen kids and nerds at the front, heavies playing it cool at the back, and the rest in the middle. A bit short on heavies though – only three that I could pick out. Two of them were trying to decide whether to sneer or glare as they ran their eyes over me, while the other one, a really big kid, gazed out the window. There was nothing to see out there. I knew that, and he knew that, but it didn’t matter. He was making a point. Looking at me would be even more boring than looking at nothing. Just telling me who was boss.
    I found a seat in the middle, next to a kid called Simon. He gave me a grin and moved his bag off a chair so I could sit down. They were doing geometry. Calculating opposite and corresponding angles – that kind of stuff. None of it seemed too stressful. I’d done heaps of it last year so I figured I could take it easy for a bit. Anyway, the period was nearly over.
    I sat through a couple more classes and then escaped for lunch, seeking a shady space I could have to myself. It’s good to have friends, but if you go chasing after them at a new school, you always seem to end up with the wrong ones. The needy ones – kids with no friends of their own, and lots of problems they’re desperate to share with you. Better to take your time.
    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