Will (10 page)

If you’re talking about real football, then yeah, there is
.

Groans started up again,

Urr … soccer isn’t real football!

Get over it!

Pull your head in!

Let him speak, please, gentlemen
. Andrews silenced the group and looked in Dion’s direction.

Yeah, I think you could say loyal—

Someone else interrupted.

That’s rubbish, sir! No footballer in any code has loyalty anymore, it’s all about the cash
.

Mr. Andrews told everyone to shut up. Only he would never say shut up—he only had to hold his hand up and the boys stopped.

All right, Dion, continue …

Loyal, educated … 
More reactions from the class.
Umm … fit, quick
.

OK. What about if you start to compare different codes? Is the same true of league or rugby or AFL?

The whole class started up now, reigniting another of St. Andrew’s long-standing traditions—football versus soccer rivalry.

No way, sir, soccer players are gentlemen in comparison to league players …

Yeah, that’s because they’re soft!

They are not soft, you idiot!

What would you know?

Loser!

I sat back and watched. At least this was making the lesson go more quickly. It was exactly the type of stuff Andrews loved to do in his classroom. Friday, period six, was about the only time he ever let us have a full-on discussion, though. Mostly he was too concerned with getting us through the syllabus. He was smart, though; it was these types of lessons and the fact that he let us have our say that kept everyone on side for the rest of the lessons. I think he did genuinely want to hear what we thought, but it wasn’t only that. He was big on getting us to see the world, and the people in it, in different ways. I just wasn’t sure it was going to work with some of the boys, especially the league players.

I only started to pay attention again when I heard the familiar groans from the class. It could only mean one thing—another assignment.

Your job over the next month is to collect images or representations of stereotypes and catalog them. What type of medium? Negative or positive? What messages are being given to the general public? How are these images deliberately manipulated by the media and to what purpose? I want you to create an extensive
portfolio and then write a 1,500-word reflection on what you have learned about the power of stereotyping
.

Everyone moaned and carried on into their bags as they sifted through empty lunch-box wrappers, personal stereos and PE gear to find their diaries.

Just as I was lifting my head he started on me.

I see you are awake, Will. I have a special task for you
.

Every head in the classroom stared in my direction.

I want you to explore the stereotypes that surround those students who involve themselves in the school musical
.

The class erupted into laughter mixed with
Sucked in!
and
Ahh, Willo’s special!

He couldn’t be serious!

Come off it, sir, you can’t do that! No one else has been given a special assignment. That’s not fair
.

Oh no, I think it is very fair, especially considering I am giving you the duration of the musical to complete the task, which means you have at least a month longer than the other boys
.

Sir … I …

He walked out of the class, leaving me swearing at his fading back. What was his problem? As if I didn’t have to give up enough of my precious time for that bloody thing already, let alone have to study it.

If he thought I was going to do it he was wrong.

I woke up on Saturday morning to the sound of rain ricocheting off the Armstrong entertainment area. Mum was in her trekking-in-Nepal gear attacking the veggie patch again. She came in dripping and spent half an hour in the shower. She emerged from her room and began to walk around the house mumbling to herself. There was definitely something up. I thought a morning with her plants was meant to make her feel better.

My mum radar said to keep right away, as far away as possible, which I did in my bedroom with my guitar. But considering any minute now she would be at my door telling me it was time to go and be king of the geeks, I thought for once I’d be prepared. If only to give her absolutely no opportunity to sit on my bed and have one of her talks.

Will, it’s nine-thirty, haven’t you got to be at school by ten?

She stood in my doorway, looking shocked and even a little disappointed.

You’re ready?

What was going on with the woman? One minute I get the irresponsible, not meeting my commitments stuff and the next she looks like she’s going to cry because I am actually ready on time.

Yeah, I’m ready. I’m just about to go and get the bike
.

Oh for goodness’ sake, Will, you can’t ride in this weather. I’ll drive you
.

The radar system was ringing out its alarm. Car. Confined space with no way of escape.

No, Mum, I’ll be right
.

Will, stop procrastinating. You’ll never be able to ride to school with your guitar in this weather
.

I have before
.

Oh, stop carrying on and get in the car
.

But I wasn’t the one carrying on. For one of the only times in her life Mum started to jabber. She likes to talk but she never jabbers. In fact she can’t stand people who jabber.

The rain will be good for the veggie patch. It’s coming along well, don’t you think? Have you seen the little shoots of lettuce coming up? Another couple of months and we’ll be having fresh veggies every night. I was thinking that we might drop some over to the Rohannas—they’ve been so kind lately …

I switched off and began to think about the fact that I was going to be stuck in the St. Andrew’s College hall all day. I couldn’t be bothered going, I couldn’t be bothered playing and I certainly couldn’t be bothered communicating with a Year 7 reject no matter how much he needed the attention. I just wanted to hang out at home. It was chucking down with rain, freezing cold, and all I wanted was a date with my bed, TV and guitar.

I suddenly noticed the jabbering had stopped. We’d pulled up at the lights and Mum was staring dead at me saying nothing.

OK, this was too weird. I eyed her nervously.

What’s going on, Mum?

I’m allowed to look at you, aren’t I? I am your mother
.

She drove on in silence. That was about enough questions from me. Everything in my body told me to shut the hell up. The familiar wash cycle started in my gut.

Well, if you must know, I woke up thinking about your father. And when I was looking at you I was thinking of how much you remind me of him
.

Silence.

But I didn’t want to say it because I knew you would react exactly like you are now
.

The water continued to slosh around in my gut.

Then I thought about what we would have done on a rainy Saturday if he were still here. That made me think we hadn’t spent any time together lately
.

Now that was where she was definitely lost. I had spent more time at home this year than I had since I’d reached puberty.

I know what you’re going to say, Will, but that’s different. You’re home, but you aren’t really there
.

Mum was moving into uncharted waters and she knew it. She also knew that if she kept going I’d bail. I turned away from her and looked out the window. She pulled over to the side of the road. Her hand was on my shoulder and mine was on the door handle.

Will, I’m sorry. This is hard for me too, OK?

I released the handle and turned to look at her.

I just wanted to … 
There were tears in her eyes, hanging on the lids like big fat water bombs.

Well, I just wanted to make a connection, that’s all
.

The bombs never dropped. They retreated with the act of speaking.

It’s all right, Mum. It’s no big deal
.

We drove to school in silence. The tension was gone, replaced by a weary sadness.

Will?

It’s sweet, Mum
, I said, grabbing my guitar.
Thanks for the lift
.

And then I did something I hadn’t done since I was eleven. I reached over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. It was worth it. I hadn’t seen the smile she gave me as she drove away for ages.

Mum had probably been sitting on that all week. Now that she’d had a little chat with me she’d be fine. That was what she was like: she had her say and then she was happy. Me, on the other hand, I was left feeling like crap. That was the problem in our house: she loved talking about Dad and I hated it.

Hey! Hey, Will, it’s me. Zach
.

That was all I needed.

Hey, Freak, how’s it going?

We walked into the hall together, the Freak giving his running commentary. This time I didn’t mind so much; the more he spoke the more the car ride and the conversation disappeared. And as he kept talking the washing machine continued to work through its cycle until finally it switched to off.

Because Wednesday’s rehearsals had taken place at both Lakeside and St. Andrew’s, today was the first day the entire cast, band and crew had been together at the same time. The vibe was completely different from the auditions. It seemed like everyone had traded in their egos and were actually getting worked up about being involved. It had the same feel as when the boys and I were just about to go onto the soccer field. You weren’t thinking about yourself, you were thinking about how you were going to win the game and annihilate the opposition. Except there wasn’t any opposing team to the musical, apart from me. And after the morning I’d had, I didn’t have the energy to be a one-man opposition. I figured I’d try to sit today out on the bench.

There was another really good reason for the excitement and maybe this was the most honest one. We were in the presence of GIRLS! I reckon the musical thing is different for girls. They don’t seem to find being involved in this type of stuff as wanky. It’s a far cooler thing to be involved in the school musical if you are a girl from Lakeside rather than a boy from St. Andrew’s.

As soon as I hit the newly polished floorboards that Mr. Jenson, the maintenance guy, always had a go at us about scratching, Brother Pat had me doing band stuff. We had to set up right down the back of the hall until recess, so the leads could run through their dialogue onstage without having to yell over us. This meant I had to get the
geeks organized with music stands, musical instruments and whatever other stuff was essential in a junior band geek’s life. After half an hour of setting up and making sure everyone had the right lunch box, we were finally ready to start. That was when Brother Pat stepped in, and he kept at it for the next two hours. Not one of the geeks complained. They just played nonstop, loving every second of it. The only thing I kept at was looking at my watch, counting down to the break. I was hanging out for the moment I could check out the girl factor. But as usual Andrews got in the way.

OK, everyone, I know you’re ready for a break but I want to run through the opening before we stop. Complete with overture, so band to the pit, please
.

The geeks moved in tornado-like time, leaving a similar trail of destruction. I took my time.

Right, thank you, everyone. Silence, please. Polly, entrance!

She entered from stage left, without her script. As soon as she came onstage the whole hall faded away, including Andrews. I felt strange. Removed. Disorientated. From that moment on I was gone. Completely and totally gone.

I remember in Year 9 when we did Shakespeare in English. We watched
Romeo and Juliet
with Leonardo DiCaprio and got to talk about love and sex and stuff, something Year 9 boys are obsessed with. There was this one scene with a fish tank in it, when Romeo and Juliet saw each other for the first time. I remembered our teacher said this was the moment they fell in love—well, I think she said lust actually—and we all thought she was an idiot. How could you fall in love after one look over a bloody fish tank? Right now I could safely say that we had quite clearly been talking out of our arses. You obviously knew nothing about anything in Year 9.

I was locked to the spot, paralyzed, but still managed to stay on
my chair, just. My jaw felt as though it had dropped to the floor like in the cartoons. It was difficult to breathe, like suddenly I had to think about doing what my body had been doing on its own for the past seventeen years. And then I knew I was really in trouble because I could feel myself starting to come over a bright fire-engine red.

She was … 

She was … 

She was hot!

And I was behaving like a dickhead.

It wasn’t that she was drop-dead gorgeous—you know, like on the front of
Ralph
magazine gorgeous—but she was just awesome! She had brown hair that was long, past her shoulders. She wasn’t that tall but she wasn’t short either. She fit together with all the right parts so that everything was in exactly the right spot and in exactly the right proportions. Not super skinny, just, I don’t know, like she was meant to be how she was.

But it was her face that really blew me away. All I could see were these bright, deep brown eyes, like they were always ready to have some fun. And her mouth looked like it was molded into a permanent smile. I couldn’t drag my eyes away. It wasn’t only her looks, though they had a lot to do with it. I also had this feeling that I had definitely seen her somewhere before.