by James Roy
‘I’d like you to speak to your teachers with some respect, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Katie said.
His voice was starting to get a bit shaky now. ‘That’s it, you’re on detention!’ he said.
But Katie replied, ‘No I’m not.’
Yes you are, young lady!’
‘No, I’m not. At lunchtime I will be, but right now I’m actually standing here on my chair arguing with you.’
Mr Clancy closed his eyes and scratched his forehead. When he opened his eyes he said, ‘Get down off the chair, thank you.’
Katie said, ‘I know you can’t make me, because I know the rules, and if you touch me I’ll scream, then my parents will sue you for assault.’
And it went on like that for ages, until Mr Clancy finally said, ‘Oh, I give up.’ And he did give up, but Katie didn’t. She’s tough. I think she could win a staring contest with one of those fluffy hat guards that stand out the front of Buckingham Palace.
When I saw Katie in Mrs Beech’s classroom that Monday, I guessed that it was something similar that had led to her being in detention this time. People like Katie never do learn, I think that’s true. And the thing is, I reckon that heaps of teachers don’t even bother after a while. I think they just go, ‘If I can get through this year, this kid will soon be someone else’s problem.’ And in Katie’s case, that someone else was going to be Red Hill High School. Except it was March, which meant that her teacher still had a lot of year to get through before Katie became someone else’s problem.
Detention was pretty boring. It always is. But I didn’t really mind, because Jared was away from school that day, so all I would have been doing at lunchtime was wandering around by myself anyway.
Speaking of people being away from school, Nerdstrom wasn’t there either that day. I figured he was probably just sulking like the big baby that he is.
9 NERDSTROM STAYS AWAY
That Tuesday I had a sandwich for lunch because the tuckshop was out of pies and sausage rolls. And the lady I’d had the fight with about the hair in the pie was there again, so that all made sense. And the sandwich was OK, I guess, but I would have preferred a pie. I saw a number of other kids with pies, and I thought about persuading one of them to swap their pie for my Vegemite sandwich, but I was already running late for my lunchtime detention, so I didn’t.
Jared was at school, and of course he joined me in detention. He said that he’d had a bit of a cold the day before but that he was feeling a lot better now. Obviously Nerdstrom wasn’t over whatever it was he had, because he was still away. Either that or he was still sulking. What a jerk. What an idiot jerk.
It was probably just as well for Nerdstrom that he wasn’t there, actually, because Mr Sigsworth had an announcement to make. Just before recess he said to everyone, ‘All right, listen up. Our class has volunteered to do an assembly later in the term for our Year Six Literature Day, and you’re each going to do something.’
One of the girls said, ‘But Bookweek isn’t until third term, is it?’
Mr Sigsworth smiled and said, ‘That’s true, but we thought that this year we’d have a Literature Day early in the year as well. We thought it was important for the younger kids to see that you older ones are into books and reading. It’s a good example for them, you see? So I want you to do something, either on your own or in groups, to do with a favourite book. It can be a skit, or a poem, or a short play.’
I put my hand up, and Mr Sigsworth said, ‘Yes, Max?’
I said, ‘Can me and Jared do a performance? We could be wrestlers.’
Mr Sigsworth sighed and looked at the carpet. ‘Did you fall asleep during the words “Literature Day”, Max? Generally that means that it has something to do with books.’
‘There are books about wrestling,’ I said.
‘That you’ve actually read yourself, Max?’ he asked, which I thought was a bit unnecessary. ‘No? I’ll be making sure that everything is above board, and we don’t have to decide now, but you might like to start thinking about what performance you or your group would like to do. But everyone needs to prepare something.’
‘Even Nerdstrom?’ I called out. ‘Because he blushes really bad.’
The class laughed, but Mr Sigsworth shook his head. ‘Triffin’s not even here to defend himself, Max. And yes, even he will have to do something for the assembly. Now get out of here, all of you. It’s recess.’
Me and Jared started talking about what we were going to do, and wrestling it was. It hardly even needed to be discussed, really. This was going to mean an unscheduled visit to the library, but we were determined to find a book about wrestling that would support our plan. Eventually.
Yep, we’d find a book with wrestling in it, and then I was going to be Robbie Bloodhound and Jared could be Nemesis.
Sorted.
10 THE KID
That Wednesday I had a pie for lunch, which I ate in detention. I also spilled a bit of it down the front of my shirt. The kid sitting next to me laughed, and I made a seriously threatening face at him. Then I almost felt bad, just for a second, because this kid was so tiny and weedy. He looked like he was in about Year One. I mean, I was in Year Three before I got my first lunchtime detention, and this kid looked like he still needed a morning nap at recess time! I tried to think of what such a little kid would have to do to get lunchtime detention, but I couldn’t imagine what. Wetting his pants in class, maybe. Either that or something totally unexpected and rather admirable.
But that didn’t change the fact that he was actually laughing at me. I could hardly believe it, so I made another even more threatening face at him. He didn’t seem too frightened by this either, and I had to admire his ability to remain calm when confronted by someone like me.
‘Don’t you know who I am?’ I asked him in a whisper.
The kid nodded and said, ‘Yeah, you’re Max Quigley’ as if I was stupid or something and didn’t know my own name.
So I said, ‘Yeah, so you should have a bit more respect, since I’m heaps older than you, and because I could make your life really unpleasant.’
And that was when he shrugged and went back to drawing in his project book.
This made me really mad. But I was even madder when I saw that what he was drawing was a picture of someone with biggish ears, crooked teeth and a big splat of pie down the front of his shirt. I mean, my ears aren’t all that big. And I don’t have green hair.
I decided then that I was so going to get him.
11 THE KID RETURNS
That Thursday I had nothing for lunch because I forgot to take my lunch money. On my way to the detention room, I was about to lean on a couple of the smaller kids hanging around the tuckshop to get some money out of them, but Mrs Hinston (whose memory must be close to paranormal) spotted me and said, ‘Max Quigley, aren’t you meant to be in Mr Goward’s classroom for detention today?’
‘I don’t have any lunch,’ I explained.
She looked at the little kids I was standing close to and said, ‘I don’t think any of them brought your lunch to school, do you? Now hurry along to Mr Goward’s room, thank you.’ This was very rude, since she’d asked me a question but hadn’t even waited for an answer. Rhetorical questions can seem a bit rude, I decided.
The little kid who drew a picture of me the day before was there again, and I thought I should sit near him, since he seemed to be getting a bit big for his boots. I mean, I wouldn’t ordinarily sit that close to anyone younger than me, but I thought it would be wise to keep an eye on him. And when he saw me walk in, he kind of nodded at me, all grown-up, and I just nodded back. I thought about making an intimidating face, but the way he looked at me I thought was actually pretty cool. Especially when you think that for a Year One kid to end up in lunchtime detention for two days in a row he must have done something pretty bad. They usually go easy on the little ones and just give them a paper-pickup or something like that. But lunchtime detention for two days? In Year One? T
hat’s impressive.
I decided then that if he was there again the next day I was going to ask him what he’d done to deserve three days of detention.
12 A LITTLE CHAT WITH NERDSTROM
The Year One kid wasn’t in detention that Friday, which I felt a bit disappointed about. But I was sure I’d see him around, and I was going to make sure I asked him what he’d done to earn the detention. I mean, that’s what I thought I’d do, except that I’d forgotten one important fact – that all little kids look practically the same when they’re wearing their school uniforms. But at the time I did think that if I ever saw the kid again I was going to find out what he’d done. It was sure to be pretty cool, whatever it was.
Nerdstrom was finally back at school. I saw him just after I arrived. I knew he was trying to act like I didn’t frighten him, but I noticed that when he came around the comer from the library (where he was probably helping cover books or file newspapers or something) and saw me, he hesitated, just a little. Then he quickly kept walking, just so I would know that he wasn’t scared of me. But I’m not stupid. I saw the tiny pause in his step and the way he started blinking and looking at the floor a lot.
No, I’m not stupid.
And later, when I told Jared about it, he said that he thought it was time we had a talk to Nerdstrom, one on one.
Or two on one, actually.
It went pretty well, considering. I think he saw our point of view. I mean, Jared was all for really scaring him, even hurting him a bit, but like I said before, actually hurting people on purpose isn’t my way. I don’t want to let myself get labelled like that. Besides, I’m already on a lifetime of detentions as it is, so doing anything that leaves marks on the skin would be just plain stupid.
And of course if I was involved in hurting someone it would stuff up the balance of things. As it is, I can get people to see my point of view by talking to them. I persuade them. And sometimes I use Jared’s pretty fearsome reputation as reinforcement for my persuasion. It’s sort of like a good cop, bad cop kind of thing.
Anyway, this is how our talk with Nerdstrom went down. When we were getting our books and stuff out of our bags before morning assembly, I walked really close behind him and said, ‘We need to talk.’
‘Talk? About what?’
‘We’re not going to discuss it here,’ I said, and he just kind of swallowed. Or gulped, really, which is a scared kind of swallow.
So I said to him, ‘Don’t stress about it, Nerdstrom. I just want to talk to you at recess time. I’ll meet you down next to the Mud Pie Stump.’ There’s this old sawn-off tree-trunk beside the tennis courts where the little kids like to get all messy in the mud when the playground teachers aren’t paying attention, which seems to be all the time for most kids and never at all when I’m around.
And when I said this, Nerdstrom went kind of pale, and he said, ‘I’m not frightened of you, Quigley’ which was beginning to get a bit annoying, to be honest, because I might have been starting to believe him a bit. Even though his face was the colour of this page and he looked a bit fidgetty, I was starting to think that I wasn’t scaring him as much as I wanted to or expected to.
At recess I caught Nerdstrom’s eye and sort of suggested to him that it was time for him to be moving down towards the stump.
When me and Jared got down there, he was waiting for us, trying to look all relaxed but doing a really bad job of it. He saw us coming and jammed his hands right down into his pockets like he was this cool guy, and he said, ‘What’s up?’ Some people can say that and get away with it, but some people (like Nerdstrom) just sound stupid talking that way. I think he actually meant to say ‘Wassup’ but said it wrong, like this American guy who visited our school once to talk about using less water when you shower, and instead of just saying ‘Gidday’ he said it as two words, like ‘Good day!’ What a jerk.
So when Nerdstrom said ‘What’s up?’, I said, ‘What’s up is that I’m not happy with the way things are going around here. You’re not playing the game.’
‘What game?’
‘The game where you’re scared of me.’
‘But I’m not,’ he said.
‘Well, you should be, because that’s how things are around here. I’m the biggest kid in the school, and I don’t want dumb little hippies like you getting too big for their boots. I’ve already said I’m sorry for what happened at the cake factory the other day, and now that I’ve done that, things should just go back to the way they’ve always been.’
Nerdstrom coughed, cleared his throat and said, ‘But … but even though you said you were sorry, I never accepted your apology. So … so it actually means nothing.’ Then his voice kind of trailed away.
‘Why doesn’t it mean anything?’ I asked.
‘Because you aren’t really sorry.’
Jared stepped in then and said, ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I heard you two laughing about it with some of the other guys yesterday, how you’d locked me out of the factory. And anyway, I don’t really want your apology. I don’t want anything from you.’
‘How about a black eye?’ Jared asked him, as he took a step forward, which made Nerdstrom blink and wince a bit. But seeing him flinch didn’t make me feel as good as it normally would have.
Nerdstrom said, ‘I just want to be left alone, that’s all. So can I go now?’ And when we didn’t say anything, he hopped down off the stump and walked off up the hill, looking back over his shoulder once or twice.
13 THE BIG,STUPID IDEA
There were some unfortunate developments that weekend. The main one of these concerned Nerdstrom, who now seemed intent on worming his way into every part of my life.
It began when Mum and Dad started talking about my maths grades. I mean, it was only March, so grades shouldn’t even mean that much. But they seemed to be onto my case a lot earlier this year. Dad said all of my grades were disappointing, but especially maths. It’s just like him to worry about things like maths. Personally, I don’t care about numbers very much, except for the obvious things, like how much a can of drink costs, or a new computer game, that sort of thing. You know, money stuff, which is important, obviously. But what is all this equation stuff about? Mr Sigsworth writes this big long list of numbers and things on the board, then he says, ‘Now I need you to work out the value of x in this equation.’
But I think, who cares?
It turns out that I have an ally in Katie Hardcastle. The other day Sigsy wrote one of his long, complicated things on the board and said, as usual, ‘OK, class, what is x in this equation?’
Katie said, ‘What’s x?’
‘That’s what I want you to work out, Katie.’
To which she said, ‘But what is it? Is it eggs, or apples, or little piles of dog-poo?’ (That got a big laugh.)
Sigsy just shook his head and said, ‘It doesn’t matter what it is, Katie.’
So she put her pen down and said, ‘Good. Then we don’t need to work it out, do we?’
Sometimes that girl makes so much sense.
Anyway, my maths marks weren’t good, apparently. There’d been a note about it in my homework diary earlier in the week, sealed in an envelope. And on Saturday Mum and Dad called me into the kitchen and said, ‘Mr Sigsworth is very worried about your application in class, especially in maths.’ In reply, I named at least five other people who have much worse application in class, including Katie Hardcastle, and of course they said that those kids were the problem of their parents, not of mine, and that if Mr Sigsworth thought it necessary to send a sealed letter home in first term outlining his concerns, then obviously they needed to do something about it. And since it is so very important to my parents that I be able to work out what x is at any given moment, they said they were going to get me some extra help. Imagine my surprise when I found out who it was going to be.
So I was like, ‘You’re kidding! Nerdstrom? Why him?’
‘Because he’s good at maths, that’s why,�
� Mum replied.
‘How did you pick him, though? There are heaps of kids who are good at maths, but they can actually talk to you without getting all nervous and looking like they’re about to spew everywhere. Plus he’s in my class.’
And that was when I saw Dad catch Mum’s eye and raise his eyebrows, and he said, ‘It’s final, all right, son? It’s already been … you know, discussed. We’ve been talking to your teacher and some other people, and —’
‘Do I get to discuss it?’ I shouted, but of course Dad just shook his head.
‘I’m sorry, mate. There’s more to it than you realise.’
‘Well, I think it’s the stupidest idea anyone’s ever had,’ I said, but Dad glanced at Mum then just folded his arms.
‘Yes, well, like it or not, it’s out of … it’s out of your hands. Triffin and his mother are coming over tomorrow afternoon to talk about it, and you’ll be polite whether you like it or not. And this discussion is over.’
I thought about pulling a Katie Hardcastle and having the last word, but I remembered that my dad isn’t Mr Sigsworth. I mean, for one thing Mr Sigsworth doesn’t control my pocket money.
14 THE BIGGER, STUPIDER IDEA
That Sunday Nerdstrom and his mother came to visit, which was about as much fun as having your teeth pulled out with rusty pliers. I heard their old orange Volvo approaching from far away, and I was cross even before I heard the car doors go creak and bang out in the driveway.
Mum went and answered the door, of course, and I was upstairs with Cameron, watching from my bedroom window as Mrs Nordstrom tried to convince her pathetic son to get out of the car.
‘What are they coming for, exactly?’ Cameron asked.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said.
But he wouldn’t give up. ‘Why is Nerdstrom coming to our house?’