doesn’t sit too well.
I walk straight through the school gates and
head up to the Year Twelve common room. My first day amongst the ‘big boys’ as The
Chief would call them. It means crap all to me. This Year Twelve common room
shit is nothing but a change of scenery.
I push open the door with all its peeling paint
and half-arsed attempts at graffiti and wander into our new territory.
Instantly I’m hit with the smell of girls. Perfume, deodorant, fannies, chewing
gum, whatever you want to put it down too. A bunch of them are sitting round
the couches that circle a low coffee table covered in girly magazines. They’re
all giggling and telling stories of their holidays.
‘So Mum and Dad took us to Queensland and all I
did was lounge on the beach and work on my tan. Check it out. Isn’t it perfect?’
‘For sure, Sar. It looks awesome. How lucky are
you? I had to hang out with my grandparents the whole time.’
‘Hi Paul’. One of them waves at me.
I ignore her and walk up the back to the
lockers. Not that you can really call them ‘lockers’. They’re all worn out,
again with peeling paint, and most of them don’t even lock. I scan the messages
scratched into their doors – ‘Biffo waz ere 99’, ‘For a good time call Becky on
0433787666’, ‘PK loves RT 4eva’, ‘Mr Gleeson likes little boys’.
After I dump my bag I get the hell out of the
common room and head to the canteen. That left-over pizza has made me more hungry
than not and I can already taste a hot meat pie and sauce.
‘Meat pie? They won’t be in ‘til lunchtime,’
says Betty, the canteen matron.
I look around the rest of the place, trying to
decide what to eat instead. The white plastic shelves are loaded with junk
food. Mars Bars, chocolate frogs, Mint Patties, Red Skins, Salt and Vinegar
chips, Tic Tacs, Starburst…. I dip my hand into my left trouser pocket and come
up with a hand full of coins.
‘All right. I’ll have a Mars and those salt ‘n
vinegar chips. And put me down for a pie at lunch, will you?’
Betty looks at me with one raised eyebrow. It is
bushy and unkept, and the same boring brown as her permed mop. I wait for her
to give me my food but she just stares at me, then tilts her head expectantly.
‘Please?’ I venture.
She dumps the food on the white laminated
counter and holds out her palm for the money. I hand it over.
‘You might want to be more courteous next time,
Mr Beckett. I’m the one handling your food, remember,’ she says with a smirk.
I smile.
‘Sure thing, Betty.’
Betty’s all right. Been here for years but she’s
still got a sense of humour. Don’t know how. I’d go nuts having to work in that
shit box all day.
Outside the canteen is a row of long wooden
benches. I drop onto the closest one and rip open the chip packet. I’ve got a
mouth full when a hand slaps me on the back.
‘Beckett, mate. Howzit? You catch the cricket
yesterday or what?’
Reggie throws his bag onto the cement and
straddles the bench. His pants are ripped at the knee and he has a gravel rash
on his right cheek. It’s just beginning to ooze bright red blood.
‘What happened to you? Did you stack your pushie?’
I ask, unwrapping the Mars Bar and taking a generous bite.
‘I reckon,’ he says, touching his fingertips to
his cheek and rolling his eyes. ‘Just around the corner too. My own fault
though. Was checking out that Rachel Stevenson. Man, I’d like some of that
action.’ He holds out his hands in front of his chest to mimic her giant tits.
‘I wouldn’t trust her after that stunt she
pulled on Hamilton last year.’ I take another bite of my Mars.
‘Who gives a toss about trust? She’s nothing but
a bit of a shag, that bird.’ Reggie slaps me on the back again, smiles and
winks at me.
I roll my eyes.
‘Have you seen Matt yet?’ I ask.
‘Nah. He’s probably off near the gym getting in
a quickie with what’s-her-face.’
‘You know its Nicole. And do you ever think
I walk straight through the school gates and
head up to the Year Twelve common room. My first day amongst the ‘big boys’ as The
Chief would call them. It means crap all to me. This Year Twelve common room
shit is nothing but a change of scenery.
I push open the door with all its peeling paint
and half-arsed attempts at graffiti and wander into our new territory.
Instantly I’m hit with the smell of girls. Perfume, deodorant, fannies, chewing
gum, whatever you want to put it down too. A bunch of them are sitting round
the couches that circle a low coffee table covered in girly magazines. They’re
all giggling and telling stories of their holidays.
‘So Mum and Dad took us to Queensland and all I
did was lounge on the beach and work on my tan. Check it out. Isn’t it perfect?’
‘For sure, Sar. It looks awesome. How lucky are
you? I had to hang out with my grandparents the whole time.’
‘Hi Paul’. One of them waves at me.
I ignore her and walk up the back to the
lockers. Not that you can really call them ‘lockers’. They’re all worn out,
again with peeling paint, and most of them don’t even lock. I scan the messages
scratched into their doors – ‘Biffo waz ere 99’, ‘For a good time call Becky on
0433787666’, ‘PK loves RT 4eva’, ‘Mr Gleeson likes little boys’.
After I dump my bag I get the hell out of the
common room and head to the canteen. That left-over pizza has made me more hungry
than not and I can already taste a hot meat pie and sauce.
‘Meat pie? They won’t be in ‘til lunchtime,’
says Betty, the canteen matron.
I look around the rest of the place, trying to
decide what to eat instead. The white plastic shelves are loaded with junk
food. Mars Bars, chocolate frogs, Mint Patties, Red Skins, Salt and Vinegar
chips, Tic Tacs, Starburst…. I dip my hand into my left trouser pocket and come
up with a hand full of coins.
‘All right. I’ll have a Mars and those salt ‘n
vinegar chips. And put me down for a pie at lunch, will you?’
Betty looks at me with one raised eyebrow. It is
bushy and unkept, and the same boring brown as her permed mop. I wait for her
to give me my food but she just stares at me, then tilts her head expectantly.
‘Please?’ I venture.
She dumps the food on the white laminated
counter and holds out her palm for the money. I hand it over.
‘You might want to be more courteous next time,
Mr Beckett. I’m the one handling your food, remember,’ she says with a smirk.
I smile.
‘Sure thing, Betty.’
Betty’s all right. Been here for years but she’s
still got a sense of humour. Don’t know how. I’d go nuts having to work in that
shit box all day.
Outside the canteen is a row of long wooden
benches. I drop onto the closest one and rip open the chip packet. I’ve got a
mouth full when a hand slaps me on the back.
‘Beckett, mate. Howzit? You catch the cricket
yesterday or what?’
Reggie throws his bag onto the cement and
straddles the bench. His pants are ripped at the knee and he has a gravel rash
on his right cheek. It’s just beginning to ooze bright red blood.
‘What happened to you? Did you stack your pushie?’
I ask, unwrapping the Mars Bar and taking a generous bite.
‘I reckon,’ he says, touching his fingertips to
his cheek and rolling his eyes. ‘Just around the corner too. My own fault
though. Was checking out that Rachel Stevenson. Man, I’d like some of that
action.’ He holds out his hands in front of his chest to mimic her giant tits.
‘I wouldn’t trust her after that stunt she
pulled on Hamilton last year.’ I take another bite of my Mars.
‘Who gives a toss about trust? She’s nothing but
a bit of a shag, that bird.’ Reggie slaps me on the back again, smiles and
winks at me.
I roll my eyes.
‘Have you seen Matt yet?’ I ask.
‘Nah. He’s probably off near the gym getting in
a quickie with what’s-her-face.’
‘You know its Nicole. And do you ever think