Run to Me Read Free

and blow some smoke rings as I walk up the road to school. I’ve only
got a block to go when I see McFadden heading towards me. He’s wearing his
usual shorts and a too-small wife-beater; showing off his bulky muscles. His
shoulders are all hunched like he’s cold, even though it’s already pretty
steamy. He’s got his head down and for a second I think I’ve got time to skip
out of sight, but then the inevitable happens. He glances up.
    I curse myself. I should have taken the back
streets.
    ‘Bucket. Fancy meeting you here,’ he yells out
from metres ahead of me.
    I keep on moving, and smoking, and I try to walk
straight past him. But he grabs hold of my arm.
    ‘Where do you think you’re going, fuckwit?’
    His long toes hang over the front end of his
thongs and there is dandruff swimming in his number two.
    I try to shake his hand loose. ‘Let go,
McFatty.’
    ‘What are you going to do about it? You up for
round two? Coz that’s all we got to, you know. You flaked out so early last
time.’
    ‘Whatever you reckon.’
    ‘I reckon a lot of things about you Bucket.’
    I shake my arm again. ‘I’ve got to go.’
    ‘Surprise, surprise. Bucket’s got no balls. I
know you’ve got a tiny dick but I didn’t know you’ve got no balls to go with
it. That’s right. Amanda told me all about your little woodpecker and here’s
some advice Bucket.’ He leans in close so I get a good whiff of his onion
breath. ‘There’s a hole where you’re meant to stick it, actually there’s two if
you’re lucky. If you’re not sure next time, give me a call and I’ll come finish
the job for you.’
    He throws his head back and laughs. I yank my
hand free and take off up the road as fast as I can without breaking into a
run. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m scared.
     
    ***
     
    I steer my car into the last available parking
space and switch off the engine. I look out the window at the sprawling green
of the oval and the red-brick buildings that line its outer edges. I can hear
the excited chatter of teenagers and the distant laughter of children.
    I know I can’t hide in my car forever so I hop
out, smoothing down my skirt and reaching for my bag. The February air is crisp
and humid, left over from the weekend showers. I don’t bother with the jacket;
my collared shirt will have to be respectable enough. As I draw closer to the
main door I see a sign marked ‘Office’. My heels click on the stone steps and
the wide wooden door creaks as I push it open.
    A woman with black curly hair is sitting behind
the tall desk. A pair of wire-framed glasses sit atop her head, nestled deep
amongst the curls. Glancing at me she asks, ‘Can I help you?’ 
    ‘Hello. Yes, my name is Abigail Fox. This is my
first day here. I mean, I start work here today.’
    ‘Fox. Fox.’ The skin around her eyes creases as
she tries to place me. ‘Oh yes of course. Mrs Fox, our new English teacher,
correct?’
    I nod and smile. ‘That’s right’.
    ‘Great. I’m Cynthia Brown. It’s nice to meet
you.’
    We shake hands across the desk. The skin on her
hand is rough against my own and she wears a chunky gold bangle that falls
heavily on her wrist bone as we shake.
    ‘Are you new to Jungilla?’ she asks.
    ‘No. No. Born and raised.’
    ‘Ahh, right,’ she says, nodding. ‘Ok. Well, I
have some information here for you, a few things for you to sign and if you
would like to head down the hall here you’ll find Peter Stewart, our Principal,
whom I’m sure you’ve met before and he can show you around.’ No more small
talk; all this comes out in one long breath.
    She shoves some papers at me and points out into
the hallway.
    ‘Welcome to Whateley,’ she says, as an
after-thought.
    ‘Thank you, Cynthia.’
    I wander into the hall. Hanging on the walls are
oversized photos of previous alumni, I’m guessing, and those extra special
students, like Prefects or House Captains. The people I’d always despised at my
high