Dropping In (2 page)

I've just got to the sink and rinsed out a dishcloth when Ranga calls out to me. ‘Hey Sticks, there's a new kid over the road.'

I wipe up the gunk. ‘Yeah,' I say. ‘I saw him just before.'

‘Does he live there?'

‘I think so. New people moved in last night.'

Ranga comes running into the kitchen. ‘There's something weird about him, the way he was sitting there. I think he saw me but he didn't wave. He just went.'

I nod. ‘It was the same before, when I saw him.'

‘He looked like a retard.'

I have this uncomfortable feeling, like something bad is going to happen. Ranga just said what I thought when I saw the kid, but I didn't say it. Not out loud anyway. I know what Mum would say if she heard me and I can't
let Ranga say it either. ‘Don't say that. You don't know what's up with him.'

Ranga just shrugs and picks up the PlayStation controls again.

It's a typical Monday morning. We're in home group just wasting time before our first lesson when the door opens. Mr Sutton, the principal, pokes his head in. ‘I've brought the new student, Mr Brown,' he says.

Mr Brown jumps up. He looks guilty. I bet he was playing Angry Birds on his laptop. He nods. The principal steps into the room, holding the door wide open.

There is a whirring noise and one of those motorised wheelchairs edges its way through the door.

The kid in it is our age. His head is tipped forward and sideways. His hand on the control joystick is clawed and twisted. I can tell he is concentrating as hard as he can to steer the chair. He's pretty good at it because he makes it into the room without crashing into anything. He drives to the centre of the room and turns to face the class.

The principal clears his throat. ‘This is James,' he
says. ‘I'm sure you'll all make him welcome.'

A sort of smile flashes over James's face but it disappears as quickly as it came. He is concentrating on the wheelchair controls again, except he can't seem to look directly at the joystick. His head seems to want to turn to the side all the time.

Mr Sutton nods at us as if to say, ‘Come on, where's your manners?'

‘Good morning James,' we all chorus.

‘Goo mooning,' he slurs. It sounds like he is fully drunk.

The classroom falls silent. We are all staring at James, wondering. And then a voice rings out in the silence.

‘He's a retard!'

The whole class takes a breath at once.

James flinches. There's a hurt expression, a flash of anger and then he grabs at the joystick on his wheelchair. He's having a lot more trouble getting hold of it than he was just a second ago. His face twists up all over the place and there's tension shaking his arm. He goes red as he tries to force his hand to grab the joystick, but it won't obey him. He leans forward and puts his eyes close to it. Then he has it and he turns the chair on the spot and heads for the door. His wheel scrapes the frame on the way through.

Mr Brown gapes for a second and then he takes off after him.

‘McEvoy!' Mr Sutton's face is white. ‘Get — to — my — office!'

Ranga's face is like an open book with blank pages: no expression at all, like he can't understand what just happened.

‘McEvoy!'

Fear comes creeping into Ranga's eyes. It's in the way his head sinks into his shoulders. It's in the bunching of his mouth. He knows he's gone too far this time but I bet he doesn't know why, even now. Mr Sutton called him by his surname. Usually when Ranga does something stupid and gets into trouble Mr Sutton calls him Warren.

Ranga nods. ‘Yes, Mr Sutton.' He walks out, head bowed — condemned.

Mr Sutton turns to the class. ‘Don't ever,' he waves a finger in the air, ‘ever let me hear anyone say anything like that again.' He pauses, staring us down. It takes a couple of seconds before he's satisfied we are all scared enough. ‘James has cerebral palsy. He's not intellectually challenged — not retarded like Warren called him. He's as clever as any of you.' Mr Sutton gives me a heavy look. It feels like he thinks I had something to do with
what Ranga did. Then he says, ‘James' body just won't obey his brain properly.'

I'm trying to imagine how that must feel, what it would be like, when Mr Brown steps back into the classroom. ‘Mr Sutton,' he says softly, ‘can I have a word with you?'

Mr Sutton nods and steps outside. He's still half visible, talking to Mr Brown, so no one speaks. We just look around at each other.

Finally they both step back inside and right behind them comes James. He drives over to the middle and turns his chair so he's facing the class. He's been crying. His eyes are red and puffy.

All I can think of is how brave he is. For once Mr Sutton hasn't got anything to say.

‘This way, James.' Mr Sutton hovers over James as though he's his mother or something. He leads him through the class to Ranga's desk, the desk next to mine. He drags Ranga's chair out of the way and James parks his wheelchair there. ‘Ian will show you around,' he gives me a meaningful stare, ‘at recess.'

James gives me that quick smile again. Is it really a smile or just a random expression on that face of his?

‘Cool!' he says.

He seems happy to sit next to me, but does he recognise
me? Does he know Ranga was around at my place yesterday? How would he feel if he knew I was actually wondering whether James was slow before Ranga blurted the thought out? I'm really uncomfortable. I don't know where to look but then home group ends and we have to go to maths.

I walk beside James and he tells me about himself. He used to live in Townsville. His father is in the army and he's been transferred to the SAS base in Swanbourne. He says it was hot up there and it feels freezing here. He slurs some words and stutters a bit but it's easy to get what he's saying.

I'm agreeing about how cold it has been here lately when he says, ‘It didn't stop your friend from jumping in the puddles.'

Jeez! He does know! I'm trying to think of something to say when we arrive at maths. I make a big deal out of finding a seat just to get out of talking for a bit.

Turns out he's good at maths. He answers lots of questions and he gets the answers right too. He's pretty brainy.

I end up hanging out with James all day. It's okay but if I have to do it every day it'll get boring. James can't do much.

Ranga doesn't come back to class. I bet he got suspended.

It's nearly dark. Mum will be calling me in for dinner soon but I don't want to go in yet. Ranga still hasn't come out of his house. Maybe I should go down and check on him. Trouble is, Ranga doesn't like me to go down there. Nearly every time I say we should go to his house for a change, he says we can't because his mum isn't well. I've only met her a couple of times but she seemed alright to me.

I don't know why I should be worried about someone seeing me looking at Ranga's place but, as I start walking down the hill, I'm acting as though I'm just going for a stroll in the evening. You know — just casually looking around at the scenery. The cold air nips at my ears and I hunch my shoulders so my hoodie covers more of my neck. The streetlights come on before I even pass my neighbour's place. It gets dark so early in winter.

As I walk past Ranga's house I steal a glance at the front window. Yellow light leaks through cracks in the blinds, all warm and homely, like he's in there in his PJs, about to have dinner. I nearly turn around but I force myself to walk up to the house. I have to see how he's doing.

I'm almost at the front door when I hear his mum shouting. She's yelling that Ranga's a nuisance and that he makes her life miserable. There's some scuffling and a crash and suddenly the front door is ripped open. It's Ranga's mum. She steps outside even though she's in a dressing-gown. Her hair is all messed up. She's breathing heavily, like she's puffed. I think she's trying to calm down.

She stops when she sees me. She stares at me for a second and then kind of pulls herself together, like all her joints were loose and she is tightening the connectors. ‘Warren can't come out,' she says. ‘He's grounded.'

‘For what he did at school?' I ask.

She just stares at me. Her eyes are red.

‘It wasn't really his fault,' I begin, but she interrupts.

‘Don't you defend him!' And she slams the door shut.

I stand there for a second as though I expect something else to happen but everything is quiet. I don't know what
else to do so I head home. I'm walking up the hill when a car toots. It's Dad, home from work.

As I reach our letterbox I look across at James' house. He's in the window, like last night, but this time when I wave he waves back. If it wasn't dinnertime I could probably go across and talk to him. But it is, so I don't.

As we eat dinner I tell Dad about what happened. He doesn't ask questions as I speak. He just nods every so often. It's good telling him stuff. Mum always tries to take over your story, asking questions and telling you things about the people you're trying to tell
her
about. Sometimes she makes you forget what you're saying. Tonight she doesn't interrupt either. Once she lifts her hand and leans forward, but Dad catches her eye and shakes his head. She looks at him for a moment and then sits back and lets me finish.

When they've heard everything they try to tell me about James and cerebral palsy, but they don't really know any more than I do. They say how sorry they feel for James, but I get the feeling that they are sorrier for James' parents than they are for him. They say how hard it is for them and how Mrs Davidson has had to give up work for all these years to look after him and that it is very expensive to look after a child with cerebral palsy
and how they have to have a special car and modify the house.

After a while it starts to annoy me, Mum and Dad going on about how hard it is for James' parents. I just know that I'd hate to be him, stuck inside a body that won't obey you. I've only known him for one day but they're talking about him like he's a problem, not a kid.

‘He's not a problem,' I say. ‘He's James.'

Mum and Dad look at me and then they look at each other.

‘Yes,' says Dad. ‘Yes, of course.'

I'm walking to school down the street. Ranga usually waits for me on the front porch of his house, sort of hopping up and down on the spot. It's as though he's got overcharged batteries and all the extra energy is sparking out of him, making him bounce. Today he isn't there. Maybe he's still suspended. I slow up and look for signs of him at the windows. Nothing. Then just as I pass the driveway he calls to me. ‘Sticks! Wait up!'

Me waiting for him — that's a change! Ranga walks down the driveway and straightaway I know something's not right. He never walks anywhere, he runs. He's got one arm tucked up against his side as though it's sore. His bag is on his other shoulder but he's leaning over as though it's really heavy, though it can't be — not the way it's bouncing.

I wait until he catches up. He looks tired and one eye
is puffy. It might turn black next week. He's probably walked into a door or something like that. He's always hurting himself.

‘What happened?' I ask, looking at his eye.

‘Nothin'!' he says. ‘It was an accident.'

He keeps on walking, slowly, looking at the ground. I try to speed him up by walking fast but he just drops behind so I slow down and walk beside him. I try walking slower than him to see what he'll do but he slows down even more so I give up and just match his speed. He doesn't even look at me. After about thirty metres I can't stand the silence anymore but I don't know what to say so I just keep on walking, looking across at him every so often.

I can't work out if he is sad or angry, dragging himself along like that with his face like thunder. I'm stealing one more glance at him and just as I do, he looks at me. I just blurt out the first thing that comes into my head. ‘Have a prang on your skateboard?'

‘Nuh.'

‘Your bike?'

He looks at me, like he's angry now. ‘Why?'

‘Your face,' I say, ‘and your arm.'

‘It was an accident,' he snarls. ‘My fault, so leave it.'

Jeez, what did I do?

After sport we have to have showers. Ranga usually runs around with no clothes on, flicking everyone with his towel as they get changed. No shame! But today he's in the toilet. I change slowly and in the end it's just him and me. Finally I'm changed too and Ranga hasn't even started. He's still in there. I know he's not using the toilet 'cause there's no sound, so he's most likely just sitting.

‘You'll be late for class,' I call out.

‘You go,' he says. ‘I'll be there in a minute.'

‘Mr Brown will be angry,' I say.

‘Well you better go or you'll be in trouble too.' He's getting mad again, just like this morning.

‘Okay,' I say, and I start walking back to class. Whatever's going on isn't my business. At least I figure it isn't my business for about twenty metres, but then I just have to know what's going on. I turn back and slide through the door. I lean my face around the change-room wall, silently.

Ranga is struggling to get his T-shirt off. It seems like it hurts to lift his arms up. He's got his back to me as he tries to pull it over his head. He gets stuck with his elbows jammed in the armholes and his head half in and half out of the neck hole. I can see what he has been hiding — a
couple of huge mottled bruises, like he's been run over by a truck.

Ranga must have heard me then, because he jumps a bit and starts trying to pull his T-shirt back on properly, to cover the bruises. His head is stuck. It looks like he's scored a goal at soccer, except he trips over the bench and falls across it. He'll hurt himself more if he keeps struggling like that.