One True Thing Read Free Page A

painful.’
    â€˜You don’t know the half of it,’ I say.
    We both fall silent for a moment, and then it’s a long moment and it starts to feel awkward.
    â€˜I have to go,’ I say. ‘You know … school.’ I smile and head off before I can embarrass myself further, careful not to look back.

CHAPTER 3
THE INCUMBENTS
    The corridors are thick with people and noise, which means I’m later than I thought. I’ve missed my song-writing session with Kessie. This is a problem because:
    1) I hate being late; and
    2) I’m Amanda-Bynes-Twitter-meltdown crazy when anyone else is late, especially now that Mr Campaspe has backed us to audition for Battle of the Bands next term; oh, and
    3) It’s Kessie.
    â€˜Hey, Your Highness! Your Honour! Your Majesty!’
    The monolith that is Travis Matthews is shouting across the heads of the entire senior school. He should be in Year 11, but went overseas when he was little and fellbehind. That’s his excuse, anyway. My theory is he’s still in Year 10 because he’s a complete and total idiot.
    â€˜How’s the Yummy Mummy?’ he asks, smacking his lips together.
    That’s what the media started calling Mum back when she was all gung-ho about apologising to the forced-adoption kids. It’s got worse ever since she took over as Premier. The previous Premier, Evan Sandry, retired early ‘to spend more time with his family’, and as Deputy, Mum was his obvious successor. The Party voted her in unopposed almost exactly ten months before the election. And now it’s almost here. Everyone is predicting a landslide, which annoys Mum. She says it makes her look cocky, even though she’s not the one saying it.
    For whatever reason, Travis Matthews has an unhealthy preoccupation with my mum, and with me, which is more than a little disturbing. He always has – even when we were kids, though he was much nicer then. Shy and gentle, funny and, well, normal . Almost another person, really, compared to what I see before me today. Apart from being obnoxious and ignorant, he’s also built like a Russian weightlifter. Thick-chested with an unusually large head, and breath that smells like dead people, he’s half a metre taller than the other boys and he’s got the temper of a rabid dog. His mates call him Butcher. Everyone else calls him Meathead.
    But not to his face.
    â€˜Still jonesing for my junk?’ he croons, smirking.
    Every kid in the corridor has stopped to watch, probably reaching for their phones in case I’m about to provide them with a YouTube-worthy clip.
    Twenty different insults fly through my brain, screaming for release. Fortunately, my mouth doesn’t respond and they stay locked inside my skull, where my parents – and Harry – would like them to stay.
    I turn away, hoping to draw some strength from the Lollapalooza poster lining the inside of my locker door, Eddie Vedder’s earnest face front and centre. But the lock gives me grief as usual, refusing to open, and I’m forced to deal with the moment unarmed. I turn back to stare Travis down and am just about to surrender to the demon in my head, ready to drag up an R-rated insult in my defence, when I hear a familiar voice cut through like no one else’s can.
    â€˜Hey, small-dick! How’s that impotency problem coming? All better now?’
    The corridor explodes with laughter and Travis’s face turns to stone. It isn’t the funniest line she’s ever handed Travis Matthews, but when Kessie Blythedale takes aim at the school bully, it holds a special power. Plus, she can say whatever she wants. Her mum isn’t the Victorian Premier.
    â€˜Nice one, Blythedale,’ Travis says, recovering. He swings around wildly, searching for a comeback whileavoiding Kessie’s mocking gaze. ‘Fucking lesbian,’ he mutters under his breath.
    â€˜Why, thank you,’ she calls back.