‘Nah, mate. You have them.’
‘Pack up your maths books, thanks,’ said Mr Buttera as Mr Agar arrived for change-over.
‘About time,’ said Tim. ‘Algebra hurts my brain.’ Tim jerked his head at Mr Agar. ‘Looks like a change of timetable before lunch.’
Mr Agar was pulling on his footy cap and slipping the whistle around his neck. A mesh bag filled with footballs lay on his desk.
‘Looks like it’s PE instead of SOSE,’ said Tim. ‘I reckon Agar wants to check out his new recruit.’
‘I’m not his new recruit,’ I snarled. ‘I’m just going to training.’
Tim held up both hands. ‘Hey, I believe you.’ He frowned. ‘Anyway, I don’t get why you don’t want to play. You’re good at footy.’
‘Long story.’
‘Try me.’
The room shrank and pressed against me. ‘Can we drop it?’
Tim shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
‘Let’s go blow out a few cobwebs, shall we?’ said Mr Agar, rubbing his hands together. ‘Grace, collect Luke from the library please and meet us on the oval.’
‘Are we playing footy?’ asked Frewen.
‘Little less of the “we” Jack. The class will be doing football drills. You, Klay, Miffo and Matt will take your SOSE texts outside and work on the Middle East chapter.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Klay slammed his desk drawer shut.
‘Be careful, Mr Turner,’ said Mr Agar, slinging the netting bag over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’
Matt and the girls were first out the door, followed by Tim, Vinnie and Cooper, all wrestling and shoving. Frewen, Miffo and Klay slunk behind, books tucked against their hips.
As I closed the classroom door behind me, Frewen leered and whispered to Klay. They both nodded, laughing.
I took a slow, deep breath.
Mr Agar’s shrill whistle just about pierced my eardrums. He pointed at the bench on the boundary. ‘Jack, Miffo, Klay and Matt, get to work.’
Frewen slouched over to the bench, mumbling and kicking the grass.
Benny lumbered around the corner with Grace. He reminded me of a puppy. ‘Can I kick too, Mr Agar?’
‘Of course, Luke, but we’ll start with handball drills. Boys, take a footy each. Girls, pick a partner—a male partner. The boys will be teaching you a few skills.’
Shelley and Emily screwed up their noses as if we guys were dirty socks. Grace rolled her eyes at them and strode towards me.
‘I’m Grace,’ she said, shaking my hand.
‘I know.’
Her fingers were long and smooth and she had freckles on her nose. In my old life, I’d have thought she was hot. Now I didn’t care about hot.
‘So, what do I do?’ she asked.
‘Place the ball on your flat hand...’
While the other girls squealed and giggled, Grace listened and tried what I showed her.
‘Not bad, Grace,’ said Mr Agar, watching me handball the footy back to her.
‘She’s hot for you,’ whispered Tim, sprinting past to collect Melissa’s effort.
I pulled a face.
A bellow of pain echoed across the oval.
‘Mr Agar,’ screamed Frewen. ‘Miffo’s been stung.’
The colour drained from Mr Agar’s face. ‘What by?’
‘I dunno. Maybe a bee.’
‘He’s allergic,’ said Vinnie, his eyes wide. ‘Really allergic.’
‘I know,’ said Mr Agar. He sprinted across the oval, his hat tumbling off his head.
Like Grandpa’s sheep, we followed. Miffo held his hand to his chest. His eyes filled with terror.
Mr Agar studied Miffo’s hand. ‘Did you see it?’
‘No, I was ... just sitting here ... and—’ Miffo gasped for breath.
Mr Agar helped him to his feet. ‘Everybody back to class. Now. And no nonsense!’
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Frewen.
‘Jack, I can deal with it.’ Mr Agar lowered his shoulder so Miffo could lean on him. ‘Go with the others.’
Frewen slammed his fist into his palm.
‘Just do as you’re told, Jack,’ said Mr Agar, part dragging Miffo to the office.
The girls, clucking like hens, rushed to class. Once they had disappeared around the corner, Frewen stopped and turned. He looked like he’d just kicked the winning goal in a grand final.
‘Hey, Alexander.’ He sauntered towards me, back to the school buildings. ‘Take a look around.’
It was then I noticed that not one of the classrooms overlooked this part of the yard. Something fluttered in my chest.
‘Move, Frewen,’ I said, trying to brush past him.
Frewen pushed me back. I slammed into Klay, who’d circled behind, like Grandpa’s kelpies. All I wanted to do was unleash, thump Frewen hard and finish it, but something stopped me.
‘What’s your problem, Frewen?’
‘You, Alexander. Everything was great until you turned up. No one wants you here. Not us, not your grandparents and not poor, retarded Luke’s family. Leave Marrook and go back to whatever stink-hole you crawled out of.’
‘Leave Marrook or leave Winter Creek?’
‘Both. You don’t belong in either place.’
‘You’re psycho, Frewen.’ I shook my head and tried to move around him. ‘Seriously, you’re deranged.’
He was in front of me, jabbing me in the chest before I could move. ‘At least my mother isn’t a skank.’
Poke.
‘Whatever.’
Poke. ‘A low skank.’
‘Yeah, I heard you the first time.’
Frewen seemed to swell. First Tim, then Vinnie, Cooper and the girls wandered back around the corner. Benny ambled behind them. He frowned when he saw us.
‘What are you doing, Beetle?’
‘Piss off, retard,’ yelled Frewen.
My pulse thudded in my ears. ‘Don’t call him that.’
‘He is a retard. And do you know why?’ Frewen was so close I could see each freckle on his nose and the chicken pox scar on his left eyelid. ‘Because of your skank mother.’
‘You’re nuts.’ I forced a laugh. ‘My mum hasn’t been back here for years. How can it be her fault?’
Frewen’s eyes lit up. ‘You don’t know, do you?’
Panic slithered through me.
‘Leave Beetle alone, Jack,’ said Benny, moving next to me.
‘It’s okay, Benny,’ I said. ‘We’re just talking. You go back to class.’
Benny frowned. ‘Jack’s being a bully.’
‘Honest, Benny, everything’s good,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘Hey, retard,’ said Frewen, his face triumphant. ‘Know who killed your brother? And who turned you into a retard?’
‘Shut up, Frewen,’ I growled. Fear bubbled inside me.
‘Jack, leave it,’ said Matt. He quickly stepped forward.
‘Clear off, Nugent.’ Frewen pushed him aside. ‘You see, Alexander, after your grandfather dumped Woosher from the footy club, Woosher spent the day drinking at the pub.’
The earth heaved under my feet. ‘Don’t—’
‘Woosher was driving his ute home from the pub, the back way to avoid the cops, and he crashed into the Bennett’s car. Remember Luke? Just up the road from your old house.’
Benny frowned and rubbed his head.
‘Woosher wrecked your dad’s leg, Lukey.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Benny,’ I yelled.
Frewen’s laugh was loud. ‘Woosher killed your brother, Luke, and Woosher made you a spastic.’
Benny was moving from one foot to the other.
‘Do you know who Woosher is, retard?’
‘Stop it, Frewen,’ I hissed. ‘I’m your problem, not him.’
He puffed out his chest. ‘Woosher was Callum’s father. Your friend Callum’s dad wrecked your life, killed your brother and stuffed your dad’s leg. What do you think of that, Benny?’
‘You’re wrong,’ I whispered.
‘No, Alexander, I’m right.’ Frewen sneered, his forehead so close to mine I could smell his hair. ‘Luke’s a retard because of your father. Because of you.’
He punched me in the guts. I grunted and fell to my knees, gasping for breath. Benny howled and raised his fist. Frewen was faster. He smashed Benny in the face. This time Benny howled in pain.
In one movement I was on my feet and lunging at Frewen. I grabbed him by the jumper. All I could see was his sneer. The urge to fill his world with as much pain as he’d just poured into mine and Benny’s was so strong I couldn’t take a breath.
‘Hit him, Callum.’ Cooper sounded like he was at the end of a long tunnel.
The noise I made was part growl, part grunt. I smashed my right fist into Frewen’s face. His nose crunched beneath my knuckles. Frewen sagged, but I kept hold of his jumper. I punched him again, this time my fist smacked into the side of his head. And again. My fist connected with something softer. I couldn’t see or hear, but I could smell. Blood. Fear. Just like the change rooms when Nic...
‘I’m okay, Beetle. I’m okay,’ said Benny tugging at my windcheater. ‘It’s okay now.’
Suddenly the rage was gone, leaving me drained and not wanting to hit him any more. I became aware of where I was, what I was doing. I still held Frewen’s jumper. Instead of letting go, I leant over him. ‘Don’t touch Luke again. Do you hear me?’
Frewen cowered at my feet. Snot ran from his bent and bloody nose, his face covered in red and white blotches. He was crying.
‘Promise. Promise that you’ll leave Benny alone.’
Frewen nodded. ‘Okay. I promise.’
I let go of his jumper. He crumpled to the grass. My knuckles hurt. They were covered in blood.
‘Stop it! Stop it,’ screamed Ms Nugent, sprinting around the corner. ‘Are you all right, Jack?’ She bent over Frewen, her face filling with hatred. ‘My God, look what he’s done to you.’
Matt Nugent stepped forward, his face white. ‘Mum, Jack started it. He and Miffo set up this whole bee sting thing and—’
‘Don’t defend him, Matthew,’ snapped Ms Nugent. ‘I know exactly what happened here, and Jack isn’t to blame.’
‘Ms Nugent,’ I said, wiping my bloody hand on my trousers. ‘I’m—’
‘You disgust me,’ she said. ‘You’re a deceitful, violent thug, just like your father.’ It was like her words hammered home everything Frewen had said.
Luke’s brother was dead because of my father.
Luke was disabled because of my father.
I was like just like my father.
Just.
Like.
Your.
Father.
I vomited onto the grass.
Ms Nugent tutted. ‘Disgraceful.’
A steel band tightened around my chest. I marched away from her, from Frewen and from the rest of my class, standing watching, their mouths open and eyes wide. Then I was running, sprinting, up the path, past Mrs Gray on the admin block step, and out the gate to my bike. Benny lumbered out the school gate with Tim.
‘Beetle, wait.’
‘Callum, hold up,’ said Tim.
No way could I face Benny, not now I knew ... I fumbled with the lock and wrenched my bike from the rack. The bike shuddered as I rode over the cattle grid. I turned towards the highway, away from Winter Creek school, away from the shame of who I was, of what my father had done. Away from the shame of what I’d done.
Names swirled in my head. Woosher. Luke. Luke. Woosher. The houses, trees and cars were a blur. I pedalled past the ‘Farewell from Winter Creek—a friendly community’ sign.
‘Beetle.’
At first I thought I’d imagined it. But I heard it again.
‘Beetle.’ Urgent, panicked.
I glanced over my shoulder. Benny was riding Tim’s bike. He grimaced with effort, fighting to keep the bike steady.
‘Go back, Benny,’ I yelled.
‘Stop, Beetle,’ called Benny.
A truck sped around a bend, crossing the white line in the middle of the road to my side. As it passed, the rush of air just about knocked me off the bike. I fought for control, gagging as the sheep stench engulfed me.
If
I
found it hard to keep
my
bike upright...
I grabbed at the handbrakes and spun around in time to see the gust of air hit Benny. He tried to steer the bike onto the road, but it shuddered and wobbled in the gravel. The bike skidded, wobbled and flipped. Benny’s mouth formed an O as he flew through the air, landing in the grass.
‘Benny...’ I rode as fast I could to where Tim’s bike lay. The front wheel was buckled. The back tyre spun, the spokes flicking against the long grass.
I tossed my bike down beside Tim’s and stumbled through the grass to Benny.
‘You’re okay, Benny. You’re okay.’
Benny lay in a crumpled heap. His school pants were ripped at the knees. Blood trickled from his nose and flowed from a gash near his elbow. His eyes were open, staring.
The air rushed from my lungs in an animal sound.
‘Benny?’ I moaned. ‘Sit up, mate. Come on Benny, sit up.’
He didn’t move.
Heart racing so fast it hurt, I stared at Benny, looking for a breath, any sign of life.
Help. Benny needed help.
I stumbled backwards, then sprinted to the road, arms waving like crazy.
A silver Commodore skidded to a halt. Mrs Gray rushed from the car, holding her mobile phone. ‘Are you okay, Callum?’
‘I’m okay ... Luke ... He’s...’ I pointed.
Mrs Gray flipped open her phone and punched numbers. ‘Found them. Luke’s hurt.’
He was more than hurt. And it was my fault. I knew what happened next. Panic. Yelling. Ambulances. CPR. The smell of blood filling the air. And hate. So much hate. I stumbled towards my bike.
‘Callum. Wait.’
I jumped on my bike and fled.
Michael and CJ watched Ganger collect the witches’ hats. Anton helped him. ‘It’s not right,’ said Michael. ‘It’s your turn to be striker this week. That’s what the whole team decided.’
‘It’s cool.’ CJ tried to sound calmer than he felt. ‘Nic’s a better player than me.’
‘You serious? He’s only striker because of his dad.’ Michael shook his head and walked to the change room with the rest of the team.
CJ couldn’t lift his feet to follow. Nic was striker for the grand final, and CJ would watch from the bench.
‘Striiiikkker,’ said Nic. He slid on his knees and stopped in front of CJ.
‘Well done.’ CJ found the strength to lift his feet.
Nic kind of danced beside him. ‘So footy star, where are you playing? Midfield?’
CJ stared at the grass. ‘The bench.’
Nic blocked his path. ‘Serious?’
CJ nodded.
Nic grinned. ‘Tough luck.’
CJ pushed Nic’s shoulder. ‘You better play well.’
‘Always, my friend. Always.’ Nic hip and shouldered CJ, hard.
CJ stumbled slightly onto the concourse surrounding the change rooms and stuck his arms out to stop from smashing into the brick wall. ‘Hey!’
‘Can’t you take it, footy star?’ asked Nic, grinning.
CJ laughed, but launched at Nic, grabbing him around the chest. Nic elbowed CJ, almost winding him.
‘That the best you’ve got?’ asked Nic, pushing CJ through the change room doors.