Marked (8 page)

The smile disappeared and she didn’t answer for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Don’t know. Just like to run, I guess.”

“But d’you play any sport?”

She shook her head.

“What about the cross-country? You haven’t even entered … you’d clean everyone else up no trouble.”

Another shake of the head. “Maybe. But then they’d stick me in the inter-school team. Don’t want that.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t. Okay?” The sparkle had turned into a dangerous gleam. “Can we leave it?” She stood up and reached down to help me to my feet. That was as close as I got to being carried. “Can you keep quiet about this? You didn’t see me running.” Her face was serious now. It was important to her. “Promise?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“
Say
it. You promise.”

“Yeah, I promise.”

But why? What the hell was going on?

I’d promised to keep my mouth shut. But I didn’t think Jed counted. He’d seen Kat out running. He already knew she was Superwoman in disguise. I waited until we’d dropped her off after school the next day, and then tackled him.

“What’s going on with Kat?”

“How d’you mean?”

“Well, she was out training yesterday. And I reckon she’d win the Boston marathon if she put her mind to it.”

“Yep, with you so far. What’s your point?”

“I just can’t understand her. She hasn’t even entered the cross-country. Says she doesn’t want to make the school team. She made me promise to keep my mouth shut about seeing her out training.”

“Did she?” He sounded surprised at that. “And have you?”

“Yeah. Except to you. And you knew anyway.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“So what’s she up to? And she said she doesn’t play any sport. Can you imagine that?”

“No,” he said at last. “I can’t. She’s a natural.”

“It’s pretty weird. She clams up when you ask her anything. Why?”

“Damned if I know. Blissy’s a bit reticent on the information front too.” He was silent for a moment as we pulled up outside the cottage. Then he turned to me. “Tell you what I think. I reckon she’s trying to keep her head down. I think they both are. They’re frightened, trying to stay under the radar. Dunno what happened in Australia. I mean … you believed what Kat said about her dad? The car fire?”

I nodded.

“Dunno if I believe it or not. Blissy can be pretty touchy. I see a fair bit of her, but haven’t had the guts to ask her. I reckon something happened over there and now they’re sort of on the run.”

“What sort of something?”

“Buggered if I know.” He shook his head. “Could be something simple though … debt collectors … bailiffs. Could even be some Aussie creep trying to get into Blissy’s knickers. But I don’t think it’s any of our business. If they’re trying to keep out of sight, let’s not do anything to upset them.”

“So what about Bullyboy, our friend in the green Ford? He seems to be after Kat?”

He sighed, pursing his lips. “Don’t know where he fits in,” he said, easing the ute into gear. “Like you say, he seems more interested in Kat. That’s the scary bit.”

I watched Jed drive away. The scary bit. He was right about that. But I hadn’t seen Bullyboy for a day or two – he seemed to have disappeared. I didn’t see him again for about a fortnight. Not till just before he was killed.

The worst thing about facing Burger in the boxing draw was that nobody thought I had a chance. Nobody that is, except Dad – but then he’d never
seen
Burger. Everyone else reckoned I’d be dog-tucker inside thirty seconds.

Jed had even advised me to make sure of it. “If you won’t take a sickie, take a dive. Let him hit you and then lie down. A bit of recumbertude … roll your eyes … groan a bit. They’ll stop the fight and everyone’ll be happy.” He’d thrown me a wicked grin. “And you’ll still be alive. Be nice to make it to your next birthday.”

Dad had a different approach. “Go for the nose,” he said cheerfully. “It’ll bleed if you hit it hard enough. Just belt it.”

“Dad, I’d be lucky to reach his nose, let alone belt it.” We were in the garage, both gloved up, with a homemade punching bag hanging from the rafters between us.

“Stop psyching yourself out. Watch.” He chalked a cross on the bag. “There’s your target. That chalk mark is his nose.” Rising onto his toes, he began weaving, side to side, holding his left glove high to protect his face. A sudden jab from the left started the bag swinging. Another jab with no contact. Then
thwack
! His whole body twisted as his right seemed to come from nowhere, smashing into the punching bag like a pile-driver. It spun away sharply, and I could see the chalk mark was blurred. I’d barely seen the blow, but its power would’ve felled an elephant. A large one.

“Like that,” he said, peeling off one off his gloves. I watched him with renewed respect as he chalked a fresh mark in place. “Now you try.” He stood to one side, watching and giving advice. “Stay on your toes … and keep moving. Your head too.”

I was doing my best, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. There was a lot to learn.

“Keep your left glove up to guard your face, but keep him guessing. Jab, jab. Make him watch it.”

I was dancing, side-on to the bag, taunting it with my left, and there was approval in Dad’s voice as he gently spun the target, forcing me to circle round it. “That’s it. Stay on your toes. Now use your right, give it everything.”

I smacked the bag as hard as I could. Tried to imagine it was Burger’s face. Then I stepped back, panting.

“That’s all right,” he said. “But if he’s done any boxing, he’d have seen that punch coming a mile away. Don’t signal it, just shoot from the shoulder using your whole body.” He demonstrated, unleashing a vicious punch into thin air. “You’ve got to hit the target, and you’ve got to hit it hard. No pansy stuff. And you need to get fit.”

In some ways Dad’s plan was almost as simple as Jed’s. “It’s only a school competition,” he said. “You want to finish it as quick as possible. And if you can get him to bleed, they’ll stop the fight. Nobody likes to see school kids covered in blood. So go for the nose. First round, first punch. Practise with your right – you’re drawing your fist back and signalling. Haymaker stuff. He’ll see it coming.”

So I’d been offered two plans – two different ways of shortening the bout. Jed wanted me to play possum. Dad favoured a bit of bloodletting. But what about
after
the fight? What then? If I followed Jed’s advice, I’d be telling Burger I was easy meat. That he could beat me up anytime he felt like it. And from what I’d seen so far, that would be about three times a day. About as appealing as finding a dog’s turd in your lunch box. Was Dad’s plan any better? What if I
did
bloody Burger’s nose and they stopped the fight? Would we respect each other? Would we smile, shake hands and walk off into the sunset together?

Fat chance.

I could just see it. He’d figure I had cheated and won on a technicality. He’d want to get even, and he’d respect me the way a little kid respects a fly when he’s pulling its wings off.

When I thought about it, I reckoned my own plan might be better than either Jed’s or Dad’s. Get fit, get some practice in and then just fight him. If I put up a good fight, and he beat me, maybe that would satisfy his weird sense of honour. Maybe then we could both live and let live. On the other hand, if I managed to beat him squarely, well, at least he wouldn’t think I was a pushover. And then he might leave me alone.

Either way, I knew I had to fight him properly.

I’d been staying out of Burger’s way as much as possible, but a couple of days later it rained and the phys. ed. staff doubled up the classes in the gym. Indoor soccer – a game of skill, poise and teamwork. Unless, of course, Burger happened to be on the other side.

The first time he cannoned into me I thought it was an accident. An oversized body struggling with an undersized brain. But then it happened again, just after I’d laid the ball off into a gap. Not even Burger needed to be that clumsy. I picked myself up and eyeballed the ref, Mrs West. She smiled and raised an eyebrow sympathetically, but she didn’t do anything.

Next time I had the ball I saw him coming. I was close to the wall, and he was thundering towards me, murder written all over his face. Letters ten metres high. He was going to crush me against the wooden slats of the wall bars.

I’d had a gutful of him by this time, and didn’t bother to think. I stopped the ball, backheeled it and then spun out of his path to recover it. As I turned, I gave him an elbow jolt to help him on his way – accidental, of course. Then I stepped around him as he thumped into the wall. It was like watching a jumbo jet stop suddenly – like against a mountain. His shoulder crashed into the wall bars, his head collided with something solid and he bounced away onto the floor. Sat there nursing his arm with a dazed expression on his face. He’d cut his lip too, and blood trickled down his chin. The game came to a halt, and I felt amazingly good.

But only for a moment. While one of the other phys. ed. teachers tended to poor Burger’s woes, Mrs West took me aside. “Don’t you
ever
do anything like that again. Not at this school.” She was angry, her words snapping at each other’s heels.

I couldn’t believe it. “But–”

“But nothing! You didn’t need to do that. You set him up deliberately.”

“Set him up? You saw what he was doing.”

“Yes …” She looked away from me into space and drew a deep breath. “But that doesn’t excuse what
you
did.” She glanced around at the other kids. Then she eyed me again, hard, and jerked her head towards the office door. “Come with me.”

I was seething, but I followed her into the office.

“Sit down.” She pointed to a chair and I lowered myself onto it, sitting on the edge, fists clenched. She remained standing. “You’re new here. Cully, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What were you trying to achieve by humiliating him? Will it make your life here any easier?”

I stared at her. Why the hell was she picking on me?

“Well? Will it?”

She actually expected an answer. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Thought it was a rhetorical question.”

“A rhetorical question,” she muttered and rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid.” Then she faced me again. “Let’s talk hypothetically. I assume you know what that means?”

I nodded. Next door the game had restarted. I could see it through the office window. The other phys. ed. teacher was refereeing, but Burger was nowhere to be seen.

“Let’s imagine a kid without any brains and no real skills. Not much good at anything. But then he discovers the other kids kind of respect him because he’s bigger than they are.”

“Burger?” I blurted. “But he’s a bully.”

“Leave Brian out of this,” she snapped. “We’re talking hypothetically. This big kid also discovers he’s good at rugby and everyone’s happy. Suddenly, he doesn’t have to prove himself any more. As long as everyone accepts that he’s boss kid, and no one tries to challenge him. Everyone knows his place and everything is peaceful. Then what happens? A new kid turns up. A kid with all sorts of skills and brains to match. And what does he do? He challenges the big kid, humiliates him. And now we have a state of war. Kids taking sides. Vendettas … paybacks … bullying. And this new kid is smart enough to know better.”

She paused, staring me straight in the eye. “You
are
smart enough for that, aren’t you?”

Another nod.

“So what are you going to do?”

I dropped my gaze to my hands. What did she want from me? “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Apologise to him? To Burger?”

“And how would that make him feel?” She sat down opposite me, while I thought about it, fumbling for an answer.

“I suppose it’d be like … feeling sorry for him. Rubbing it in?” I looked up and thought I caught the faintest flicker of a smile.

Then she grinned. “I think you’re going to do what you should’ve done back in there. Watch out for him and get out of his way when you see him coming. You’re quick enough to do that.”

“That’s more or less what I’ve been trying to do, but I wasn’t expecting what happened in there.” I gestured towards the gym. “It’s gonna be a bit hard though. I’m down to fight him in the boxing.”