Marked (2 page)

“Yeah, I think so. Not likely to need much on the first day.”

A new school, but with parents like mine that was hardly a novel experience. They shifted house more often than they changed their underwear, and nearly every time we moved, I’d find myself at a different school. I was used to it.

This time I hadn’t started straightaway because Dad hadn’t been sure if we were staying. That meant I’d had an extended holiday, which suited me fine. He’d settled into his writing though and even put down a couple of batches of home-brew. So I figured we were here for a few months, at least. I was starting school two weeks into the fourth term. But it was something to think about. Better than imagining bullyboys with concealed weapons.

“Don’t reckon it’ll be much different from any other school,” I added at last.

He took his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at me. “No. You’ve been to a few of them now, haven’t you?” I wasn’t sure if he was apologising or not.

“Yeah, I reckon.”

“You don’t want me along, do you?”

A loaded question if ever there was one. “No. I’ll be okay.” I thought about asking him to come with me, just to see what he’d say. But I didn’t. I knew he wanted to get on with his writing. And anyway, the last thing I wanted was to turn up at a new school with the olds tagging along.

“Good. Thought I’d drop you off at the ferry in the morning. Pick you up again after school. You can phone me when you’re on the way home. That suit you?”

“Yeah.” I twisted in the seat, facing him. “But you don’t have to drop me off. Jed said he’d give me a lift.”

“Oh,
great
idea,” he said sarcastically. “I can see your mother buying that one. First day at school, and I entrust you to the local layabout. Don’t forget – she’s actually met him.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. But he
did
offer.”

“Even so.”

Jed ran a few sheep in the paddock next to the cottage we rented. He was a lot older than me, probably late thirties, but really good company. And for a long-haired dole bludger, Dad reckoned Jed made a pretty decent drop of home-brew. He also kept our freezer well stocked with fish. We both got on with him, but Dad had warned me he was a bit shifty. Like not to be trusted.

He was probably right about that too. One time Jed’d turned up with some homemade toheroa soup. Fantastic stuff – creamy and positively oozing with lumps of succulent shellfish. Dad was on cloud nine, wolfing it down. He loves toheroa soup. Later, Jed told me he’d actually made it from pipis. Reckoned toheroa soup sounded more up-market, and he knew Dad thought pipis from the local beach weren’t safe to eat. Dad believes the boaties moored in the marina spend their whole lives flushing raw sewerage into the estuary, and he reckons poo poos and pipis don’t mix.

But I liked Jed. Being a bit shifty didn’t stop him from being a good bloke. It’s about ten kilometres from our place to the ferry, and getting a lift on his motorbike would be a lot more fun than being taxied around by Dad.

School started okay, really. Someone had set fire to the canteen rubbish skip the night before, so the deputy head was busy talking to a couple of cops. The guidance counsellor was away on a course, so my introduction to Cooksville High was left to Mrs Parton, the school secretary. She was young – only about twenty-five, I thought – friendly and absolutely gorgeous.

“Sorry about this. You’ll have to make do with me.” She ran her eyes over the form in front of her and then looked up. “Cully? Is that your real name?”

“Um … not really,” I said. “It’s Culliford. Mum’s idea of a joke. And my middle name’s Sibelius. She’s a bit weird.”

“Fond of music though?”

I nodded, and she grinned. “And you’d rather we left it as Cully in the records?”

Again, I nodded, this time gratefully.

“You’ve been around, haven’t you?” She was flicking through my file. “Namibia, New Guinea – and your last school was in Sydney. I guess you’ll find it a bit different here on the Coromandel.”

“Yeah. Dad’s a writer,” I said, as if that explained everything. “But in some ways this is pretty much like New Guinea – mountains, heavy bush, wild streams – and hardly any people. Besides, it’s not all that far from Auckland.”

“No, not as the crow flies. But it’s a long drive. Anyway,” she said, “I hope you enjoy it here.”

She gave me a copy of the student guide, ran through my timetable with me, asked if there was anything else I wanted to know, and then took me to class. No fuss. No spiel about how wonderful my new school was. No counselling. Just what I needed.

It was a maths session and like any other class I’d ever been introduced to. Keen kids and nerds at the front, heavies playing it cool at the back, and the rest in the middle. A bit short on heavies though – only three that I could pick out. Two of them were trying to decide whether to sneer or glare as they ran their eyes over me, while the other one, a really big kid, gazed out the window. There was nothing to see out there. I knew that, and he knew that, but it didn’t matter. He was making a point. Looking at me would be even more boring than looking at nothing. Just telling me who was boss.

I found a seat in the middle, next to a kid called Simon. He gave me a grin and moved his bag off a chair so I could sit down. They were doing geometry. Calculating opposite and corresponding angles – that kind of stuff. None of it seemed too stressful. I’d done heaps of it last year so I figured I could take it easy for a bit. Anyway, the period was nearly over.

I sat through a couple more classes and then escaped for lunch, seeking a shady space I could have to myself. It’s good to have friends, but if you go chasing after them at a new school, you always seem to end up with the wrong ones. The needy ones – kids with no friends of their own, and lots of problems they’re desperate to share with you. Better to take your time.

I had lunch with me. A canteen pie would’ve been better, but Dad was under Mum’s orders to make sure I took proper wholesome food with me each day. Even so, I don’t think she’d have been too rapt about the greasy half chicken I’d snaffled. Wondered what Dad was having – I hadn’t left much in the fridge. Hunger satisfied, I balled up the scraps and tossed them in a nearby bin. Then I lay back beneath the trees, hands behind my head, watching the clouds gathering above the far ridge. Some kids were kicking a rugby ball around not far away and every so often it would bounce near me. Then someone would come puffing up to retrieve it.

I kept thinking about the girl I’d seen on the ferry yesterday. I’d half-expected to see her at school, but if she was a Cooksville High student, she was keeping her head down. Anyhow, what would I say if I
did
bump into her?

“You wanna have some kicks?” It was Simon, stooping to gather up the ball. He gave it a hefty whack towards the other kids and then turned back to me, a questioning look on his face.

“Yeah … okay.” I’d have much rather stayed where I was, but I didn’t want to brush off his friendliness.

They’d broken themselves into two groups, kicking the ball back and forth. That would’ve been okay except the boss kid who’d been in maths was in our group, so it was pretty hard for anyone else to get a go. It was just kicks – no tackling or running with the ball – but he didn’t seem to understand that.

Everyone called him Burger. Good name for him too. Though maybe Pudding would’ve been even better. Eventually, the ball came within reach and I leaped up to take it at arm’s length, AFL-style. I was still in the air when Burger cannoned into me, dropping his shoulder hard. He obviously expected the ball to fly loose, but I’ve played a fair bit of Aussie Rules, so it stuck to my fingertips. There I was, sprawled at his feet clutching the ball and gazing up at his pudding face. Piggy eyes glared at me. Then he wrenched the ball free. It wasn’t difficult – I was so amazed, I let him take it.

He belted it back to the other group and then turned to me, sneering. “Haven’t played much footy have you? Catch it properly. Bring it into your chest.”

I was back on my feet by this time. Still amazed and pretty angry too. “Footy?” I shot back. “Football? You’d need a round ball for that. And you don’t catch it at all … not unless you’re in goal.” I knew it would get him going, but I couldn’t help myself.

“A soccer poof?” His face puckered into an even deeper sneer and he moved closer, standing right in front of me.

“No. I’ve played a bit of soccer, but I don’t reckon I’m a poof.”

He reached out and shoved me in the chest. Hard. A stiff-arm fend, and I stumbled backwards. “Well,
most
of them are poofs,” he said.

Regaining my balance, I ran my eyes over him. He was a lot bigger than me, but he looked soft, with a fairly thick layer of flab. Did I want to stir him up? I took a deep breath and steadied myself. “I guess you’d know. Pretty much into the touchy-feely stuff yourself, aren’t you?” I watched as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “But
I’m
not a poof,” I went on, “so maybe you could keep your hands off me.”

“You gettin’ smart?” He thrust his chin out at me, chest heaving.

“No, not really. You didn’t need to shouldercharge me though.” I forced a grin. “Let’s call it quits.” Inwardly, I was cursing. I didn’t need this. Winding up the school bully wasn’t going to do anything for me.
You’re a bloody fool, Cully
.

“Whadda they call you? Cully? Well, listen, Cully … you give me lip an’ I’ll
do
you. You’ll wish I’d just fed you through the shit shredder.” He glanced over his shoulder. The lunch break was nearly over and one of the teachers on duty was wandering nearby, so for the moment I was safe from either being done or shit-shredded. Whatever that was.

I was wild though. Wild with Burger, and even wilder with myself. First day at a new school and I’d dropped myself right in it. I could tell there was no way he would ever let things rest. And I knew he wouldn’t play fair if he decided to show me who was boss. Stupid thing was, I didn’t care
who
was boss. As long as it wasn’t me.

Still angry with myself, I made my way to afternoon class, clutching my student guide open at the map page. I wasn’t exactly lost, but I was gazing around to check my bearings. And that’s when I saw the girl.

She was sitting on an outside bench under the classroom windows. Just as I’d seen her on the jetty, eyes lowered, a glossy curtain of hair hiding most of her face. This time she was wired for sound, her head swaying rhythmically to the beat of whatever was on her iPod. Beside her, a blond girl was busy catching up on her homework, her folder balanced on one knee. They seemed to be together, and when the teacher appeared, one nudged the other and they both rose to their feet.

There were plenty of other kids milling around, mostly waiting for my English class. Everyone lined up and we filed inside. Somehow I’d been thinking of the girl I’d seen at the ferry as a loner, but she sat with the blond and a couple of other girls about halfway from the front. They were talking quietly and getting ready for work. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t recognised me – or even noticed me. I found a seat on the other side of the room.

We were being sorted into debating groups. I hate public speaking, but I knew I wasn’t going to get out of it. Teams were listed on the whiteboard, groups of four. At least I found out her name. Kat. I wasn’t in her team though. Ended up with Simon and a couple of girls I hadn’t seen before. And some homework – preparing arguments to support the moot
Sport is beneficial to the health of society
.

Weird name, Kat. Spelled with a K. Short for something, I supposed. Kathryn? Katrina? Katharsis? Anyway, her group was down as our opposition, taking the negative. At the end of the period I watched her leave. She filed out with all the others, and I didn’t see her again.

Not till I reached the ferry wharf.

It was starting to rain, so I moved inside the tiny shelter, and there she was. She raised her eyes as I sat down, and I nodded to her with a half-smile. I mean, we
were
classmates. She held my eye for a few seconds and tilted her head in reply. Not unfriendly, but no warmth either.

“Apparently, we’re in opposing teams,” I said hesitantly. “For the debates … the benefits of sport and all that …” I floundered to a stop and there was a long pause. Why the hell hadn’t I stayed outside in the rain?

“Looks like it,” she said. Then she turned away, rummaging around in her backpack and pulling out her earphones.

A bunch of younger kids suddenly burst in from the rain, and a few moments later the ferry eased alongside the wharf, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her again. Even if I’d been brave enough. I sure as hell was
stupid
enough.

Dad was waiting for me when we landed. He was in a foul mood because he’d had to stop and raise the hood of his convertible when the rain started. It was ages before he asked me how I’d got on at school, but I hardly noticed. I was looking at the station wagon parked about three cars along. I knew that wagon. A green Ford – the one Bullyboy had climbed into yesterday, after Kat had bolted onto the ferry. And here he was again, waiting to pick her up from school – he
had
to be her father.