It was a relief to get off at Flinders Street, to leave the crammed carriage, to jump on the train to school. He easily found a seat; there were only a few people heading out of the city. At the other end of the carriage he spotted three boys from his school, three juniors in coloured blazers, not a crease in their jackets, not a spot on their ties. One of the boys looked up and noticed him. Dan glared back and the young boy hung his head. Dan�s scowl shifted to a smile. The pipsqueak was scared of him, they were all frightened of Psycho Kelly.
The train rumbled slowly into the station. He waited till the three juniors were out of the carriage, then he stepped out onto the platform. The three boys merged with other students. Dan knelt down, loosened his shoelaces then retied them again, to give himself some distance from the other boys. He waited till they�d all left the station and then he began the slow walk up the hill to school.
Luke was at the tram stop, his hands behind his back, neat in his blazer, his tie perfectly knotted. Luke was a prefect now, and had to stand at the tram stop to inspect the boys on their way to school, making sure their shirts were neatly tucked in, their hair wasn�t too long, that they weren�t doing anything to damage the reputation of the school. Dan smiled, waiting for Luke to notice him. He pulled at his shirt tails, further loosened his tie.
As he approached he could hear Luke bawling out some Year Eight or Nine. The little kid was blushing, nodding like a spaz, trying not to cry; his two friends were standing back. No one dared say anything to the prefect. They were lucky they�d got Luke, who knew all the school regulations but was not unkind, not like some of the others, who were bullies who got off on giving shit to the younger kids. He just wanted them to follow the rules and the regulations. The kid was still nodding his head up and down like one of those bobbing wooden birds, and then Luke let him go and the kid ran off to his mates. Luke was looking up the road for the next tram as the kid raised his middle finger behind Luke�s back and his friends burst out laughing.
Dan rushed past Luke, who turned around, surprised, just in time to see Dan grab the kid in a headlock. The boy was squawking like a chicken. Dan smacked the top of the boy�s head with the back of his hand. The boy made one last squeak.
�You little wanker, you give my mate the finger again and I�ll wallop you.� He let the boy go and he ran off. Dan grinned at Luke. �They�re all scared of Psycho Kelly.�
Luke looked at him but didn�t say anything.
Dan knew they didn�t respect him but they were scared of him; even Luke, even his best mate was scared of him. Because this new Dan was harder, tougher; he was the toughest and hardest boy in the school.
�If that little cunt gives you any lip again, you just tell me, I�ll sort it.�
Luke recoiled. From the obscenity, from the blatant try-on of the unkempt uniform. There were words forming on his lips. Dan waited, daring Luke to say something.
Luke turned on his heel, and walked through idling traffic to the other side of the street. Dan hoisted his bag over his shoulder and followed him. A car that had just started to move braked suddenly to avoid hitting him, the furious driver blaring the horn. The boys walking up to the school gate all turned to look.
�Fuck off, wanker.� Dan was laughing as he said it, and gave the driver the finger.
Luke hadn�t stopped for Dan, was walking as fast as he could.
�Hey, mate,� Dan yelled. �Slow down.�
Luke spun around, furious. �Do up your tie, will you? You look like a bum.�
A tremor whipped up Dan�s spine like a slithering grass snake. He scowled, tensing. Luke stepped back, one hand protectively raised.
He thinks I�m going to hit him. Dan smiled, then re-knotted his tie and tucked in his shirt. �That better?�
Luke didn�t understand�he never had. Luke thought the worst thing that could happen was getting into trouble at school. If he got detention, Luke�s whole world would cave in. Luke just didn�t get it, didn�t get that the very worst thing had already happened to that other Danny, that they tore apart and fucked up that other Danny. Luke just didn�t get that there wasn�t anything more they could do to Dan. If Dan were to stick to the rules, to obey every teacher�s command, to nod attentively in every class, read every book they wanted him to read, attend their sports meets and cheer along; if he was the perfect student, obedient and meek and respectful, then they would hate him, they would never stop laughing at him. They would never stop reminding him how he had failed them and how he had never belonged there.
Luke just didn�t get it.
When they were scared of him they couldn�t touch him. They couldn�t hurt him.
The boys were streaming past them. Dan wanted to reach out to his mate, he knew he should, he so wanted to touch Luke, but he was scared that Luke would shrug him off, that he wouldn�t want someone tainted like Dan to come anywhere near him.
�Hey, Kazantsis,� said Dan, the grin still playing at his lips, �I�m sorry, mate.�
And that was the moment, when they didn�t have to touch, when Luke looked straight at Dan and right through Dan and saw beyond and back and through that grin on his face and he could tell how much his friend was suffering. It was as Demet had said all those years ago�there was a light that went from his heart to his friend�s heart and back to him, and that was all the touch they needed. Dan was about to repeat his apology, this time without a stupid smart-arse grin on his face, but at that very moment a voice called out, �Kelly!�
It was Martin.
The grin was back on Dan�s face; his arms outstretched, he yelled back to Martin, �How�s it hanging, you big faggot?�
Not how are we going to stand for that, but how are you, Kelly, how are you going to stand for that.
Dan didn�t let anything show but his stomach crashed down to his feet. He swallowed, maintained his composure. Martin had his eyes fixed on him. Dan had to turn away.
Wilco was in the swim team for the Commonwealth Games. It didn�t matter how tough Dan was, how much the other boys feared him, none of that mattered. Wilco was the returning hero, Wilco was the hero of the whole school. There was no way Dan was going to stand in that hall and cheer for that cunt. No way.
He stuffed his bag into his locker. �You go on ahead. I�m just going off to the dunny.�
Martin�s eyes were narrowed, focusing on him, as if Dan were something pinned to a slide under a microscope, something small and dirty on the other side of a lens. �I�ll wait for you.� Martin�s eyes had him trapped.
Dan�s smile got wider. He looked straight back at Martin, gave it right back to him. �You want me to hold your hand, do ya?�
Martin�s gaze faltered. It started as a grin and then his face screwed up and he was cacking himself. He punched Dan on the shoulder. �Danny Kelly, you crack me up.�
Dan punched him back, but harder, so that Martin knew who was the toughest. He�d told Martin to call him Dan, but Martin refused to do that, Martin always pretended that he�d forgotten. Now he was rubbing his shoulder: the punch had hurt. Good.
Dan was whistling as he walked off towards the toilets. A Year Seven, sleek black hair, alabaster skin that had blossomed in hideous acne all over his cheeks, brow and chin, was rushing down the corridor. He tried to dodge Dan but the older boy stepped sideways, just a small movement but enough to make the younger boy crash into him. Dan�s shoulder sent the boy spinning against the lockers. Everyone looked up at the sound of the boy slamming into the metal, at his howl of pain. Dan didn�t look back, he was still whistling, his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the stairs.
He was no hero but they were scared of him. He was Psycho Kelly. None of them dared to take him on.
He was the only one in the toilets and as soon as he got in there he made his hand into a fist and smashed it hard against the hand dryer, enjoying the sound of the metal buckling. He punched the machine again. And again. And again. He�d scraped away skin from his knuckles, a
nd drops of blood were forming along the mounds. Delighted at the damage done, at the sharp stinging pain, he brought his fist to his mouth, sucked at the blood. He imagined Wilco�s face, imagined what it would be like to punch the boy, hard, like he�d punched the dryer. How good would that feel? To kick him, to get behind him and swing Wilco�s arm right up and then to wrench it back, to hear the sound of bone cracking, so that Wilco would never swim again.
Dan slammed the cubicle door, which ricocheted and pounded three times. He pulled it shut and locked it, sitting on the toilet seat, breathing in and breathing out, trying not to imagine the adulation for Wilco, on the stage in his Australian team jacket, his shoes shiny, his tie neatly knotted. As he got to his feet with that smirk on his face, he�d be looking up and down the hall for Dan, searching for Dan�s face amid the ceaseless cheering, the wild applause, looking for Danny Kelly, wanting to show him that it was he, Wilco, who was the strongest, the fastest, the best. It was he, Wilco, who was going to stand up on a podium, in Kuala Lumpur, to louder cheers, to more furious applause, when it should have been Dan up there. But he wasn�t good enough, he wasn�t fast enough or strong enough. He wasn�t the best. Dan smacked his fist into the cubicle wall with such force that his head snapped back.
Coach Torma would be there, applauding Wilco, who might just be his first Olympian.
Don�t you dare cry, you fucker, don�t you dare cry. It would be better to kill himself than cry.
He didn�t want to go out into that world in which Wilco was a hero. He�d rather stay in the toilets all day than face those boys who�d roared for Wilco. But soon he heard the approaching wave of boys as they flooded through the quadrangle, heard their shouts and laughter through the slatted panes of the toilet window, heard the clomping and scuffing of their feet in the corridor, the toilet door opening and boys pissing and shitting next to him, and the sound of water running. Dan opened the cubicle, washed his hands, making the congealed blood over his knuckles run again. He wet his hair, slicked it back, noticing the blur of bristle at his chin. Luke should have pointed that out, some teacher would call him on it, say he couldn�t come to school unshaven, if it happened again there would be demerit points, again, and there would be detention. Dan sauntered out of the toilets, kicked open the door, slid his hands into his pockets, slowed his pace to look like he had all the time in the world. He had practised this walk in front of the mirror at home, had trained his body to walk in new ways, to move differently from that other body that belonged to Danny, that no longer belonged to him.
The prefects were walking together back to the school building. Martin should have been with them but he�d been caught with a cigarette last week, and that had got him demoted. But next week he would be back; the Taylors were always prefects, according to Martin�it was a family tradition. The school wouldn�t dare punish a Taylor for too long.
He wished it were Martin he could have spoken to; Martin would have been thrilled to help him out, he�d have got off on the dare of it. But with Martin not there, it had to be Luke. Dan motioned to his friend and Luke waited for him.
�Hey, mate,� Dan whispered, �I need a favour.�
The other prefects were watching. Dan glowered at them, wishing he could mouth an obscenity at them. But he couldn�t afford to get into trouble, not at that moment. The look he gave them was enough. They turned away.
�What?� asked Luke.
�I�m going to wag today.�
�You can�t.�
�I can. If you tell them at roll call that you�ve approved my doing VCE revision in the library. I�ll be back at lunchtime. Promise.�
Luke shook his head.
�Mate, it won�t be a problem.�
�And what if you get caught?� Luke�s voice sounded younger, uncertain.
�Come on, mate, I won�t get caught and you won�t get into trouble.� Dan winked. �Anyway, they won�t expel you, you�re their top student. Getting rid of you will fuck up their entrance scores.�
The uncertainty vanished from Luke�s face. �Piss off, Kelly.� He walked off, his arms crossed, striding down the quadrangle.
Dan glanced around quickly, looking out for a teacher, making sure there was no one there to see him. There was only a gardener, some new bloke. Dan had been at school long enough to know that the gardener didn�t matter. He ran to the lockers.
Luke would do it for him, Luke would cover. He knew he could count on Luke.
He kept old t-shirts in his locker, with trackpants and sneakers, for when he used the gym at lunch or after school. He grabbed the clothes and shoes, bundled them in his arms, walking quietly down the corridor, then more purposefully towards the ovals. Once he got there he started to run.
There was a copse near the river, a circle of oak trees planted a century ago. It was where some of the boys went to smoke, where Dan went to escape. It was safer there than the banks of the river, which were patrolled by prefects and teachers.
Quickly Dan took off his school clothes and shoes, put on the gym gear, wrapped the bundle of his school uniform in a second t-shirt, and stuffed it into a hollow tree trunk. He breathed in and he breathed out.
Finally he was free. Wagging was the best feeling in the world.
Dan followed a path that kept to the river but was shielded by scrub and trees. It reached a bend and then climbed a small hill that rose to the railway tracks. There was an untidy gravel path that ran parallel to the track on one side and the imposing back walls of mansions on the other. One of the walls had broken glass cemented along its top. It was tempting�one day he wanted to scale it, just to prove he could do it. Even Martin would be impressed by that.
A small bridge crossed the railway lines and then he was in the suburbs. He walked up a narrow leafy street, crossed Malvern Road and was at Toorak station. There wouldn�t be any teachers there, no one patrolled that far. He made his way to the end of the platform, hands in the pockets of his trackpants, the cold slicing into him. But he didn�t let it bother him. The train arrived, he slipped into the last carriage and he was on his way to town.
He loved being in the city, the way you could disappear in the middle of the metropolis, the way no one bothered to look at him, how the traffic and crowds and noise had no distinct edges, how everything blended into itself so it was impossible to know where something began and where it ended.
Dan sauntered through arcades and alleys, in and out of shops. Time fell away. He wouldn�t check his watch, he wouldn�t let himself look up at the Town Hall clock, he�d trust his instincts, savour every moment. He didn�t have to be anyone here, he could just move through the city, disappear.
He wished then that Martin was with him, that they could just walk and talk, disappearing together. And if not Martin, then Luke. But they would never wag, they wouldn�t have the guts. He was braver and tougher than them. He could call Demet, she could wag, they were slack at her school. But now even Demet probably wouldn�t wag, not in their final year, she�d become a swot, always studying, wanting to get into uni. Like Martin and Luke. It was just him, alone and disappearing, conquering the city.
If only Martin could have wagged; it would have been so good to be free in the city with Martin, just the two of them, walking side by side.
Thinking of Martin reminded him that he had to get that present for Emma�s birthday.
For the longest time it pierced him right through his gut and into the heart to think of Emma. That was the price of failure, he told himself, having to let go of someone like Emma. Of course it was foolish�she was older than him, had already nearly finished university�but the four years wouldn�t have mattered if he had won the gold, if he had been the best and the strongest. But he had failed her. So it would never be. He had nothing to offer, he knew that. She was perfect and he knew that he didn�t deserve her. She belonged to the other Danny. She was a bird, flying high above him, while he was fixed, stuck to the ground. She belonged to the sky, not to the earth.
The city broke into sound and colour and smell: the heavy pulsing beat of techno blaring from a two-dollar shop; the dull grey of the asphalt; the sharp smell of spice and grease from the noodle shops. Dan wasn�t walking aimlessly anymore. Now he had a purpose.
He found the perfect gift for her in David Jones. It was a simple white porcelain plate with a blue finch etched on it. It was delicate, it was brittleness itself; he would be scared to hold it in his hands. Dan didn�t even look at the price tag, he already knew he couldn�t afford it. He didn�t even look around to see whether anyone was watching him; he couldn�t hesitate or show caution. No one called after him, no one ran to stop him. He crossed the tram tracks and headed into an arcade, his heart still pounding. The thrill of it was intoxicating. For a moment, one brief, blissful moment, he felt like the other Danny again.
He didn�t take the train this time: in a rush to return, still elated from the theft, he risked the trams. He was running to catch a connecting tram when he bumped into two boys. They were not from his school, they were from another private school, with different stripes across their blazers. They were from the school that his school was always trying to beat, the school his school hated. Dan knew it was a Catholic school, and that for some reason part of hating them was because they were Catholic, though it didn�t make much sense because there were Catholic boys at his own school, who were always getting teased about priests fucking them. As he ran past, Dan accidentally knocked his elbow into the hip of one of the boys, who stumbled, then turned and called out something that Dan couldn�t quite catch. The tram had stopped but Dan ignored it. He knew what he had to do.
�What did you say?� he demanded.
�I said, watch where you�re going, dickhead.�
The other boy nudged his mate, whispered something.
�I know you,� said the first boy. Then he grinned, mean and sly. �You�re that cry-baby, aren�t you? That loser swimmer. But then you�re all cry-babies at that faggot school you go to.�
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