‘Your grandfather and I had a chat yesterday while we were cleaning up.’
Now I folded my arms. ‘And?’
‘Callum, I saw you kicking the footy with Luke.’
‘I didn’t know it was wrong. I figured—’
‘Wrong? Callum, you’re not in trouble. It was good for Luke.’
My breath out was loud. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re a natural—you read the ball well.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your passes to Luke—you made it seem so easy. And you marked everything he kicked back.’
My face flushed. ‘Mr Ag—’
He raised his hand. ‘Just hear me out.’
I glanced at Benny. He leant forward, clutching the edge of his table.
‘Benny thinks I’m in trouble.’
Mr Agar looked up and sighed. ‘Come here, Luke.’
Benny ambled forward, hands by his sides. ‘Beetle didn’t do anything.’
‘I know mate. Callum’s not in trouble.’ Mr Agar patted his shoulder. ‘Luke, you had a kick of the footy with Callum didn’t you?’
My stomach flipped.
‘Yes. On Saturday.’
‘Do you reckon he’s a good player?’
This sucked.
Benny nodded. ‘Beetle’s good, but not as good as Buckley.’
‘So, Callum,’ said Mr Agar, smiling. ‘How about coming to training this week?’
‘To replace Frewen? No way,’ I said, turning to go back to my seat.
‘Look, I just want you to come to training, that’s all,’ said Mr Agar. ‘If you hate it, end of story. But if you like it—then you can pull on your boots this Saturday.’
‘Go on,’ said Benny. ‘Play footy, Beetle.’ Even though he looked happy, there was something else in his eyes.
‘Benny—’
‘Just train. Wednesday night,’ said Mr Agar.
An idea flashed through my mind. ‘Only if Benny can train too.’
‘Fair go, Callum,’ blurted Mr Agar.
‘He could run with us, kick a bit. He could be water boy or something.’
‘Water boy?’ yelled Benny. ‘Like the movie?’
‘Not like the movie,’ snapped Mr Agar.
‘Just kidding, Mr Agar,’ said Benny.
I swallowed the laugh that threatened to escape.
Mr Agar’s sigh was loud—seriously loud. ‘If Luke’s parents agree.’
Benny did his jumping and clapping on the spot thing. Frewen flung open the door, eyes blazing. Klay, Miffo and Matt followed. All of them were wrapped in a cloud of anger.
Frewen sneered and pushed past Benny.
‘Hey, Jack,’ said Shelley, flicking her hair. ‘Callum’s going to footy training this week.’
Frewen spun around. ‘You’re joking,’ he growled.
Shelley’s smile was fake sweet. ‘Luke’s training too.’
‘No way,’ said Miffo.
Frewen charged. ‘Alexander is not taking my place.’
‘That will do,’ yelled Mr Agar, stepping in front of Frewen. ‘Or I will have your parents back here, and you know what that means.’
Jack stopped. ‘He kicks a ball with the retar—’
Mr Agar puffed out his chest. ‘Get in your seat. Now!’
Frewen flung himself into his chair. He glared out the window, muttering.
Mr Agar tweaked his gelled hair. ‘I’ll talk to your grandfather, Callum.’
‘And my dad?’ asked Benny.
‘Yes, Benny, and your dad.’
At recess, Mrs Gray tapped on the window and beckoned for Frewen, Matt, Miffo and Klay to follow her. They slunk out the door while she rang the bell and didn’t return until after recess. The same thing happened at lunch time.
So while Frewen and the others were hanging with Gray at recess, Luke and I took over their spot on the oval. He whooped and clapped every time he marked the ball and with each kick his confidence and even his skill grew. By the end of recess, something had shifted in me. Kicking the footy with Luke was different from playing footy or even training. No pressure for starters, and best of all, no change rooms.
After my life went to hell, I stopped playing all sport. Not because of Mum’s psycho-hippy-babble theory that I was punishing myself, but because I couldn’t face the change rooms. Just the thought of them made me want to throw up. As we walked back to the classroom, instead of the pressure in my chest, there was a different sensation, one I couldn’t name.
At lunchtime, Vinnie, Cooper and Tim stood behind the goals watching Benny and me. When Benny called them over, I thought about clearing out, worried they’d take over or something. But they didn’t. They just kicked the ball and mucked around with us. And Benny loved it. He just about wet himself laughing when Vinnie tossed the ball in the air and instead of catching it, totally missed it. Tim started calling Vinnie ‘Fumbles’ which made Cooper laugh as much as Benny.
After Gray rang the bell at the end of lunch, we strolled across the oval, me bouncing the footy, the others walking and talking alongside.
And just for a moment everything seemed a little less bleak.
‘Everyone clear on their homework?’ asked Mr Agar. A mumble of ‘yeahs’ rippled across the room. ‘Such an enthusiastic bunch.’ He closed his book.
The bell clanged outside. ‘Righto, beat it, you lot. Jack, Matt, Miffo and Klay, wait here for Mrs Gray.’
Benny waved and called goodbye about ten times before reaching the bus stop.
I walked to the bike rack with Tim. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I asked him.
‘Yeah.’ It sounded more like a maybe.
‘How come you don’t usually hang out with Benny?’
‘I used to, before ... Luke was cool then. But now...’ Tim shrugged. ‘Before you came he didn’t speak. It was like he was ... disabled.’
‘He is disabled.’ I said, pulling a face at Tim.
‘Yeah, at schoolwork and stuff, but not in the yard. He laughs now.’
‘Do you reckon he stayed quiet because of that psycho Frewen?’
Tim frowned. ‘Psycho?’
I buckled my helmet. ‘Look, I hardly know him. He’s probably okay. It’s just—’
‘Want a shovel for that?’
‘A shovel?’
‘To dig yourself out of that hole.’ Tim burst out laughing, mouth open so wide I could see that thing hanging at the start of his throat.
‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.
‘You. You should have seen your face. Frewen is a psycho. And he’s been worse since Klay moved here. Matt’s not too bad. Miffo? He’s just a sheep—follows anything Frewen does.’
I bent to unlock the chain around my bike wheel.
‘Why do you bother chaining it up? No one else around here does,’ said Tim, peering over my shoulder.
‘Crud!’ I dumped my bag beside me. ‘Check this out. My front tyre’s flat. Dead flat.’
Tim pulled a T-pin from the wheel. ‘There’s your problem. Back wheel too.’ He pulled two more pins from the back wheel and dumped them on the gravel.
I groaned. ‘Double crud. Who’d—?’
‘Frewen. Who else?’
‘I’ll have to wheel it all the way to Marrook.’
‘Use your puncture kit.’
‘It’s at Grandpa’s place.’ I tugged the bike free of the rack.
Tim reached into his backpack and pulled out a puncture kit. ‘Dad lives by that Scout motto—be prepared. I could survive a nuclear war with the crap he puts in my bag.’ Tim knelt by my bike and went to work.
‘Don’t suppose you have a pump too?’ I asked.
Tim rolled his eyes. ‘What do you reckon? Probably a spare inner tube in there as well.’
I was pumping up the back tyre when Frewen, Miffo, Klay and Matt skulked out the gate with Gray.
‘Everything all right, boys?’ asked Gray.
‘Just a puncture,’ I said.
‘Tough luck,’ called Frewen.
‘You four wait by my car,’ said Gray. She strolled across the car park, hands clasped behind her back. ‘I have a motorised pump in my boot, if that would help.’
‘How come?’ asked Tim.
She smiled. ‘I’m a principal, Tim, I have all kinds of stuff in my car, just in case.’
‘There’s junk, and there’s junk,’ said Tim, nodding at Frewen standing beside Mrs Gray’s car.
‘Now Tim—use that wit to build, not destroy. The boys had a few “chores” to do and now I’m running them home.’ She picked up something shiny from the gravel. She held out the three T-pins. ‘I don’t suppose these had anything to do with your flat tyres, Callum?’
‘I doubt it, Miss. Just the bumpy road.’
She frowned. ‘They must have escaped from the office pin board all by themselves.’
‘Strange things happen at schools all the time, Mrs Gray,’ said Tim. ‘Look at Mr Peterson—there’s a slug living on his top lip.’
‘I’ll ignore that remark about Mr Peterson’s moustache. What do you think, Callum?’
‘About the slug or the lip?’
Gray sighed. ‘Will those repairs hold until you reach Marrook, Callum?’
‘Mrs Gray, are you doubting my workmanship?’ said Tim.
‘Get home the pair of you.’ She closed her hand around the T-pins.
‘Thanks, Miss,’ said Tim, packing away the puncture kit.
We stood by our bikes and watched Gray drive away. Frewen watched us out the back window.
‘Moron,’ said Tim. ‘Hey, make sure you check the inner tube in a bowl of water when you get home. Do you know how?’
‘I’m not useless. Just not prepared for a nuclear war.’
Tim climbed onto his bike. ‘Did you see Grace checking you out today?’
‘What?’
‘Grace—you know, she sits in front of Frewen. Haven’t you seen her? Man, where have you been?’
‘I know who she is. No way was she watching me. After that thing in PE, she hates me.’
‘Yeah, right she hates you.’ Tim shook his head. ‘Gotta go, Cal.’ He popped a mono and rode out over the stock grid.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Grandpa, walking through the back gate, cap in his hand.
I dunked the inner tube in the bucket of water and stared hard for bubbles. ‘Checking for leaks,’ I said.
Grandpa peered over my shoulder. ‘There shouldn’t be any. They’re new tyres.’
‘Yeah, I know, but the road’s pretty bumpy.’ I didn’t tell Grandpa about the T-pins.
‘Are you about finished?’
‘Nearly. But then I have to take in the washing for Nan.’
‘Callum,’ said Nan, opening the back door. She held out the phone. ‘Maeve is on the phone.’
‘Tell her I’m busy.’
Nan held the phone to her chest. ‘Callum, you—’
‘I don’t want to talk to her.’ I concentrated on the tyre.
‘But—’
‘I said, I’m busy.’
Grandpa cleared his throat.
I looked up. ‘Please?’
Nan sucked in her bottom lip. ‘All right then.’ She walked back inside.
I breathed out.
Grandpa stepped onto the veranda and kicked off his gumboots. ‘Let me know when you’re done and we’ll move that mob of wethers.’
‘Mob of what?’
‘Wethers—castrated rams. They’ve had their—’
‘I get it,’ I yelled, before he could go into more detail.
Grandpa chuckled. ‘I’ll be in the office.’
Halfway through the team’s second lap of the soccer field, CJ’s coach, Granger, blew his whistle.
‘Gather round, you blokes,’ yelled Ganger. He waved a sheet of paper above his head. ‘Time to announce the team for this week’s grand final.’
CJ felt the colour drain from his face. He slowed to a trot. Nic had played striker in the preliminary final, so this week it was CJ’s turn. That’s the way it had been all year—CJ and Nic had taken it in turns to play striker. But Tuesday night after training, CJ had seen Ganger and Nic’s dad Anton talking by their cars. When CJ said hi, both had jumped and avoided looking at him. Since then, CJ couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to be shafted.
‘Why are you looking worried?’ asked Michael, standing beside CJ. ‘You’re striker this week. ’
CJ forced a laugh.
‘Worried? Me? No way.’
‘You should be,’ said Nic, pushing between CJ and Michael. ‘All deals are off when there’s a grand final to be won.’ Nic winked and jogged to where Ganger stood in the middle of the pitch.
‘Hey.’ Michael elbowed CJ. ‘Look who’s here.’ Anton limped across the oval, mobile phone to his ear. ‘Did he really play for the Socceroos?’
‘Nic’s dad?’ CJ shook his head. ‘Nah. He broke his leg in a slide tackle at selections. Didn’t play another game after that.’
Anton closed his phone and stood beside Ganger. Nic squatted at their feet.
‘Bit of quiet,’ yelled Ganger, looking around the team in front of him. ‘We’ll start with the backline. Our goalie is Michael Pham.’
CJ patted his friend’s back and tried to concentrate as Ganger read through the rest of the team. But it was tough—CJ only cared about one position. His position. Striker.
By the time Ganger had got to striker, neither he nor Nic had been named.
CJ’s heart kicked against his ribs.
‘Now to the all important striker...’ Ganger’s words hung in the air.
CJ held his breath.
‘Nic Zanchi.’
Nic leapt to his feet and high-fived his dad. He ran around the group, arms in the air, T-shirt pulled over his face.
‘That’s the kind of enthusiasm I like to see,’ said Ganger.
The air rushed out of CJ. Nic was striker.
When Nic finished his victory dance, Ganger coughed a little. ‘Finally, Dave Gardener, Oscar Rosales and CJ Alexander are on the bench.’
The bench.
‘I know you all understand team spirit – premierships don’t come easy and tough choices have to be made.’ Ganger stared straight at CJ.
CJ held his gaze.
Ganger looked away first, folding the team sheet. ‘I want you all there an hour before the game. Okay?’
CJ’s team mates yelled ‘yeah.’ CJ stared at the grass. A roaring sound filled his head.
Ganger clasped his shoulder. ‘You’ll be a back-up to Nic, CJ.’
‘Sure,’ he said, and followed the rest of his team to the change rooms.
Everything okay at school?’ asked Grandpa, easing the ute through Marrook’s gates and onto the road.
‘Yeah.’
‘No problems with Jack today?’
‘Nah.’
‘Good.’ Grandpa turned off the asphalt onto a gravel lane. ‘Jack and the boys are the talk of the town.’
‘Oh.’
‘When I bought the paper this morning, Derek Manning told me there were about 15 boys running riot at the school. At the bank, I was in line behind Eunice Templeton, who offered to help replant the gardens “the hoodlums had destroyed”, and Bart King and Maurie Head bailed me up at the post office demanding the parents pay for the paths the boys apparently ripped up.’ Grandpa tutted. ‘Beats me how the truth can be so distorted.’
I just nodded and hmmmed at the right spots.
‘Of course, Max had a more accurate story. Did you know the boys have detention and are banned from footy?’
‘I heard about the footy.’
‘And did you hear Dan Agar has found a gun recruit to replace them?’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Tall kid—centre-half-forward I reckon, but Max is talking ruck.’ Grandpa stopped at double wire gates.
‘I’ll open them.’ I leapt out of the ute and scruffed Jilly behind the ears before opening the gate.
‘I thought you didn’t play footy,’ said Grandpa after I’d climbed back into the cabin.
I shrugged. ‘I used to play for the school team—before...’ My chest felt tight. ‘Mum made me play soccer. She hates footy.’
Grandpa nodded.
We drove through two more gates, both of which I had to leave open.
At the last gate, Grandpa asked me to let the dogs off. When I unclipped the chains, Star and Jilly leapt off the ute tray.
‘Way back,’ bellowed Grandpa.
It was like he had the dogs on an invisible lead. Bodies close to the ground, they sprinted towards the sheep gathering in the far corner. They bunched the sheep and herded them towards the gate.
‘Wait here and shut the gate once we’re through.’
Grandpa tapped the ute’s roof and drove in a wide arc to the back of the mob.
Jilly and Star circled and rushed after any sheep trying to break away from the mob, all the time moving them forward. The mob then stopped and glared, about 10 metres from the gate. They didn’t move until Grandpa tooted the ute’s horn and yelled an order at the kelpies. The dogs yapped at the wethers, herding them through the open gate.
‘Want a lift to the next one?’ asked Grandpa, after I closed the gate.
‘I’ll run.’ I sprinted along the fence-line and waited by the next gate, watching the sheep and kelpies, but not seeing them. All I could see was the thing I’d have to face at footy training—the change rooms. The memory of the smell and sounds made my heart shrink.
‘One more, mate,’ said Grandpa, cruising through the gateway behind the sheep. He frowned. ‘You right, Callum? You’re very pale.’
I stared at the cracks in the dirt and the ruts in the gateway. ‘I’m fine, Grandpa.’
Jilly barked. Two sheep had broken from the mob.
‘Bring ’em round,’ yelled Grandpa, driving after them.
I shut the gate and sprinted to the next one, arms and legs pumping hard, desperate to outrun the memories.
‘Good shower?’ asked Nan.
‘Yeah.’ My skin tingled. A seriously hot shower used to help wash away the memories, but tonight it had only made my skin red and the memories clearer.
Nan placed her sewing on her lap. ‘Callum, your grandfather tells me you’re going to play football.’
I glared at Grandpa, who was in his recliner reading the paper.
‘I only said I’d train so that Benny can go to training too.’
Nan fiddled with a green thread on her sewing. ‘Callum, maybe you should discuss this with your mother.’
Mum hated country footy even more than she hated the AFL. If I asked her she’d ban me for sure. But if I didn’t train, then neither could Benny.
‘Mum’ll be okay. She’s big on me being active.’
‘Perhaps, but I’d rather you called her,’ said Nan.
‘It’s only training, Nan,’ I snapped.
Grandpa lowered the paper to his lap. ‘Pat, it’ll be fine.’
‘But Jim, I don’t want to upset her.’
‘Look, Nan, Mum said that while I was here, you were in charge.’ I couldn’t believe I was throwing away a chance to avoid the change rooms. ‘So if it’s okay with you...’
‘All settled, then,’ said Grandpa. ‘I give Callum permission to go to footy training. In fact, I insist he train.’ He snapped the paper as he raised it and continued reading.
‘Great.’
My stomach dipped like it used to when I skated down that massive hill behind the library. I could almost hear Nic whooping and cheering.
When I rode over the stock grid, Tim and Benny were talking outside the school gate. Benny had his football tucked under his arm.
I waved and chained my bike beside Tim’s.
‘Heads up, Beetle,’ Benny called out, handballing the footy. It lobbed into the air and bounced towards the school gate. It stopped at Frewen’s feet. Klay and Miffo stood beside him.
Tim clapped his hands. ‘Handball it here, Jack.’
Frewen’s lip curled. He lifted his left foot and stomped on the ball, rolling it back and forth in the gravel.
Luke moaned. ‘That’s my special ball.’
‘Special ball for a special boy,’ sneered Frewen.
I tried to sound calm. ‘Give Benny the ball, Frewen.’
Frewen lifted his head and sniffed the air. ‘Hey Miffo, smell anything?’
Miffo and Klay sniffed.
‘Smells like an open sewer,’ said Miffo.
‘Yeah, very funny. Hilarious, in fact.’ I slipped my backpack from my shoulder. ‘Give Benny the ball, Frewen.
‘Tough guy,’ said Klay.
‘He’s not tough, he’s just scum. Like his mother,’ said Frewen, his face twisted with hate. ‘Hanging around with a retard doesn’t make you a hero, Global.’
Something hot exploded in my brain. I marched forward and kicked the footy out from under Frewen’s foot. He lost his balance and fell on his butt. I stood over him. ‘Don’t ever call him that again.’
‘What are you going to do about it?’ asked Frewen, a tremor in his voice.
The urge to smash him grew. I squatted beside him. ‘Try it and see.’
‘Leave him, Callum.’ Something about Tim’s white face reminded me of how Michael’s face had looked in the change rooms. My anger slithered away.
As I stepped back I noticed the kids bunched around us. Klay helped Frewen to his feet.
‘Alexander, Mrs Gray’s office, now!’ yelled Mr Agar, pushing his way through the crowd.
‘How come?’
‘Because you’re a psycho,’ said Frewen, rubbing his stomach.
‘You right, Jack?’ asked Mr Agar.
‘Fine.’ He winced.
‘Alexander punched him, Mr Agar. Twice,’ said Klay, his eyes bright.
‘He so did not,’ said Ella Bennett, strutting forward. ‘Jack and the others were picking on Luke, again.’
‘Leave it, Ella,’ I said.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Miffo with a shake of his head. ‘Jack was just trying to get the ball for Luke and Alexander started chucking haymakers. He’s seriously unhinged.’
My heart thundered against my ribs.
Mr Agar raised his hands. ‘Enough! Alexander, get to the office, now.’
Ella groaned. ‘But Mr Agar—’
‘I said leave it,’ I bellowed and pushed past the kids to the office.
‘Morning Ca—’ Mrs Smeaton, the school secretary, stopped when she saw my face.
Gray’s door was open. She was on the phone. I stormed into her office. She whispered into the phone and hung up.
‘What’s the problem, boys? I only asked to see Callum.’
Boys? I looked behind me. Benny hugged my schoolbag to his chest. Tim held Benny’s footy and my bike helmet.
‘What are you doing here?’ I hissed.
‘You’re not taking the blame for what just happened,’ said Tim. ‘Mrs Gray, Callum didn’t do anything.’
‘Tim, you and Luke need to leave, so I can talk to Callum,’ said Mrs Gray.
Benny opened his mouth, but Gray cut him off.
‘Leave Callum’s belongings and go, Luke. Now!’
He placed my backpack beside me and shuffled out.
Tim stuck my helmet on top. ‘Mrs Gray, Callum—’
‘Go, thanks Tim,’ she said.
Tim sighed and pulled a face at me as he left.
‘Callum, sit down, please.’
‘No.’
‘I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Sit. Down.’
I kicked the chair in front of me. ‘I hate this place.’
‘Stop acting like an infant and sit down.’
I flopped in the chair opposite her desk.
Mrs Gray clasped her hands on the edge of the desk. ‘What happened outside?’
My jaw ached. ‘Nothing.’
‘If you don’t talk about it, I can’t help you.’
‘I don’t need help.’
Mrs Gray sighed. ‘Well, whatever it was, it’s not why I needed to see you.’ She leant forward. ‘I spoke to the principal at your old school, Dom Franchini, last night.’
I sat still in the chair.
‘Callum, he told me—’
The walls pressed in on me, sucking the oxygen from the room. ‘Don’t—’
‘He told me about Nic.’
‘Shut up.’ I leapt to my feet. ‘Shut up about him.’
Before I could bolt, she was in front of me, blocking my path.
‘Move.’ I screamed.
‘You will not leave this room.’
‘I hate you.’ I raised my fist.
Without taking her eyes off mine, she wrapped her hand around my fist. ‘It’s not me you hate.’
The fight rushed out of me.
She released my hand. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Callum, and when I return, we will talk.’
I paced, like a lion at the zoo. My head was so fuzzy I couldn’t see properly. All I knew was I had to get out of there. As I reached for the door handle, Mrs Smeaton opened the door. Mrs Gray walked in holding two steaming mugs.
‘Milo,’ she said, handing me the blue mug.
Why did adults think a hot drink would make everything better? She sat on the lounge, the slogan on her mug ‘The best teachers teach from the heart’ facing me. ‘You must miss your mum.’
‘Nuh.’ I sipped my drink. The sweetness exploded in my mouth, but lumped in my throat.
‘She’s an artist?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Callum—’
‘I’m not talking about N ... him to you.’
‘Not to me, no.’
I felt my eyes narrow. ‘What’s that mean?’
‘I’ve arranged for Bev Antonucci to visit.’
I bit the inside of my lip until the pain spread into my jaw.
Bev was the counsellor Mum had sent me to after Nic. Bev laughed a lot and swore even more. She wore three thick silver bangles on her right arm that clanked when she moved. ‘She’s coming all the way here?’
Mrs Gray nodded.
‘What if I don’t want to see her?’
‘Then you don’t have to.’
I stared out the window into the empty courtyard. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Good.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘So do you want to explain why you were so angry when you came in here?’
My fingers tightened around the mug. ‘No.’
‘Or about T-pins and flat tyres?’
I shook my head.
She sighed. ‘I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.’
‘I’m fine.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I’ve noticed.’
I placed the mug on her desk. ‘Thanks for the Milo.’ I scooped up my stuff and left before she had a chance to reply.
It felt like the entire school was watching. When I strode to the classroom even the crows stopped scrounging in the bins to catch the show.
In class, Mr Agar sat on the edge of his table, reading our English novel,
Holes,
to the class. He didn’t stop reading as I walked down the aisle to my seat. I shoved my bag under my desk. As I sat down, Klay kicked me in the ankle, hard. Pain soared from my ankle to my guts.
Mr Agar stopped reading. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ said Klay, smiling.
‘Callum?’
‘Nothing, Sir.’
Agar sighed and closed the book. ‘Gather your belongings, Callum.’
I wanted to punch something. Hard. ‘You’re kidding!’
Agar ignored me. ‘Swap with ... Melissa.’
‘I’m not sitting next to Klay,’ said Melissa.
Agar slapped the table with his open hand. The sound echoed around the room. ‘Melissa, Callum, swap now.’
Skin searing hot, I gathered my stuff. It wasn’t until I looked up that I realised where Mr Agar was moving me.
Tim wiggled his eyebrows. Behind him, Benny grinned. I dumped my stuff on the table next to Tim and in front of Benny.
‘Right, now that’s settled, you can start the chapter questions on the whiteboard. Without making a sound.’
Muffled groans and the sound of desk drawers being opened and shut filled the room.
‘You okay?’ whispered Tim. ‘After Gray.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Started yet, Mr Mitchell?’
Tim reached for my red pen and ruler. ‘Just ruling up, Mr Agar.’
For the entire lesson, Mr Agar paced the aisles.
Before ringing the bell for recess, Gray tapped on the classroom window and motioned for Frewen and the others to follow her. Frewen, Miffo and Klay slunk from the class. Matt trailed behind.
After Mr Agar dismissed the rest of us, Tim snatched a packet of salt and vinegar chips from his desk. ‘We kicking the footy?’ he asked.
‘I guess.’ I put the Anzac biscuits in my pocket and tossed my apple from hand to hand. ‘Is Benny’s ball okay?’
‘Yeah, just a bit scratched,’ said Vinnie, bits of cream cake escaping from his mouth.
As we walked to the door, I bit my apple.
‘Hey,’ called Mr Agar, ‘take this with you.’ He handballed a Sherrin football to us.
Vinnie lurched forward and caught it. Cream cake smeared across the black writing.
‘Gross!’ said Tim.
Vinnie stuck out his tongue, as though he was going to lick the cream off.
‘You’re disgusting.’ Tim shoved him.
Vinnie lost his balance and stumbled into the wall. Vinnie, laughing, bumped Tim hard. A chill settled in my chest. At the bottom of the ramp, I tossed my apple into the bin.
‘Thanks for saving my ball, Callum,’ said Benny, coming down the ramp.
‘No worries.’ I dug my hand into my pocket and handed him the Anzacs.
‘Cool.’ He peeled off the cling wrap and offered me a biscuit.