by James Roy
‘Shut up,’ I said.
‘Don’t tell me you’re friends with Nerdstrom. He’s such a lamo!’ Cameron said, and I frowned at him.
‘Do you remember him?’
Cameron rolled his eyes at me. ‘Duh! Me and Andy Little flushed his head like heaps of times when I was in Year Six. And now you’re friends with him! That’s hilarious!’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not friends with him,’ I said, but Cameron wasn’t convinced.
‘So why is he even here?’ he asked.
‘Shut up.’
We went out into the upstairs hallway and listened. We heard Mum open the door, and then she was all, ‘Oh, well, hello! How nice to see you again! Come in!’
‘Good morning. How are you?’ I heard Mrs Nordstrom say. ‘Oh, what a lovely home!’ When you compare it to the hippy shack that she and Nerdstrom live in, it probably is a lovely home, but it’s hardly worth an exclamation mark.
But Mum didn’t mind hearing about how nice our house is. ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you so much … Hello, Triffin, how are you?’
That was when Cameron said, in this really low voice, ‘Yep, your boyfriend’s here, Maxine,’ and I shoved him hard enough in the chest to make him sit down awkwardly in the middle of the hallway.
Mum started calling me. ‘Max. Max? Max, your guest is here.’ Guest? I never invited him. But I went down the stairs, and when I got to the bottom I saw the two of them and Mum standing in the entry-way. Mrs Nordstrom was carrying a basket with a couple of covered bowls in it, and I glanced in to make sure that she had no evil-smelling green juice in there as well. Luckily, the only thing that I could see that looked green was Nerdstrom’s face.
‘Good morning, Max,’ Nerdstrom’s mum said, and I did a pretty good job of smiling and being polite, I thought. ‘It’s very nice to see you again,’ she said.
It’s only nice to see you again if you definitely don’t have any wheatgrass and celery juice in that basket, I thought. But of course I never said it. I just smiled politely some more.
Then Nerdstrom looked at me from under his eyebrows and said, ‘Max.’
‘Nerd … Triffin,’ I said. There was a long pause and neither of us knew what to say. But finally Mum flashed a quick little smile and said, ‘Well, why don’t we sit down in the living room?’
Because we’d all rather fish our own brains out through our nostrils with chopsticks, I thought. But, like before, I knew better than to say it.
Then Mum said, ‘Max, do you mind letting your father know that our guests are here? He’s out the back cleaning the gutters.’ As I headed for the back door, I heard her say, ‘He knew you were coming, Ulrika, but sometimes he gets a bee in his bonnet.’
Dad was up a ladder, and when I told him that our visitors had arrived he took a deep breath and said, ‘I’d rather finish this.’ That surprised me, because Dad hates working around the house, especially when it involves ladders. Ever since that incident with the so-called non-slip shoes, he’d never quite trusted them.
But he came down very carefully and washed his hands at the outside tap before we went inside. ‘Try and understand, mate,’ he said, as we came through the back door, and I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. There were two Nordstroms on our couch – how could I ever understand something like that? But there was no time to ask, because a couple of seconds later we were in the living room and Dad was shaking hands with Mrs Nordstrom, while Nerdstrom sat on the couch and looked at his hands and Mum made tea in the kitchen.
Eventually we were all sitting together. The grown-ups had tea, Nerdstrom and I had juice, and there were some crackers and a bowl of strong-smelling purple paste in the middle of the table, and I guessed that Mrs Nordstrom had brought that along. I didn’t know where my brother was, and I didn’t want to know, as long as he wasn’t there to witness my embarrassment.
Then Mrs Nordstrom said, ‘So, should we get started?’
‘At what?’ I asked.
Both my parents frowned at me then, which didn’t seem fair. I wasn’t being rude, and I think it’s a reasonable question when someone says ‘Let’s get started’. At Twister? What? At Lawn bowls? Clearing the room with a freshly opened canister of tear-gas?
Mrs Nordstrom cleared her throat, then she said, ‘Now, boys, as your parents we’re a bit concerned about a couple of things — ’
‘Like what?’ I interrupted.
But she held up one hand and tilted her chin away from me a bit, and said, ‘We’re concerned about a couple of things, and I just want you both to know that your teacher and your principal know about what we’re discussing today.’
Great, I thought. Mr Sigsworth, Mrs Bryce and three parents add up to at least five people so far who know more than me and possibly Nerdstrom.
Nerdstrom’s mum was still talking. ‘Now, Max, you’re good at schoolwork, we know you are, because you’ve got a good brain, but it seems that you’re not trying very hard, especially in maths, from what your parents tell me. Is that true?’
I just shrugged, even though she was right so far. I do have a good brain, and I don’t try very hard in maths. But I didn’t want her to think that she’d worked me out straightaway. Besides, what was of more interest to me at that moment was why she was doing all the talking, while Mum sat on the edge of her seat with her tea balanced on her knee and Dad sat back in his chair with a mouthful of Anzac biscuit.
She just carried on, ignoring my shrug. ‘OK, good. And Triffin, you’re good at maths, aren’t you?’
As if you don’t know that, I thought. Of course he’s good at maths – just look at him. Then Nerdstrom nodded, but I think he was a bit embarrassed to actually admit it, which is why he made a noise that sounded a bit like he was clearing his throat but not much more than that. So Mrs Nordstrom said again, ‘OK, good. But Triffin, it seems to me that you’ve been having a bit of trouble fitting in at school. Do you think that’s true?’ He made the throat noise again. ‘OK, excellent. Max, what do you think you’re good at?’ I shrugged again.
Why was she doing all the talking? My parents weren’t saying a thing, and we were in our fairly normal house, not her weird little rattly one, so shouldn’t they have been allowed to speak?
But she wasn’t going to be put off by me responding with shrugs. She said, ‘No, you do know, Max. What are you good at? Tell me. I’d like to know.’ She was sitting forward in her chair, so she was actually kind of looking up into my face. Plus her head was a bit on one side, which I really hate.
What was I good at? ‘Sport and stuff, I guess,’ I said. ‘And there’s this thing I can do with my armpit —’
She interrupted me then, and asked, ‘Is there anything else?’ But I shrugged again, so she gave me a bit of a hint. She said, ‘Do you think you’re good at people stuff?’
I thought about this. People stuff? That was a weird way to put it, I thought, but maybe I was.
‘Being a leader, maybe?’ she said. ‘Hmm? Do you think that’s a fair comment? That maybe you’re good at persuading people?’
And she really had me there. She did know me after all. I was good at those things, so I nodded and said, ‘Yeah, I am good at stuff like that. Especially the convincing bit.’ But Nerdstrom didn’t seem all that convinced, because he was just staring at the floor like he was looking for a safe place to spew.
Then Mrs Nordstrom said, ‘So it looks like we all have something to offer, don’t we?’ I’m pretty sure that was a rhetorical question, and I think Nerdstrom thought it was too, because neither of us said anything. But his mum went on talking anyway. ‘Because you each have something to offer the other, here’s what Max’s parents and I think we should do. Max, Triffin is going to give you some extra help with your maths. Twice a week you’re going to go to the library together and he’s going to help you.’
‘The kids are going to make so much fun of me,’ I said.
Then Mum spoke up. ‘We’ve already arranged it with your teacher, Max, and he’s going to
keep this to himself. He’s promised to be very discreet, and I do trust Darrell Sigsworth. We all do. So what do you think? Agreed?’
I wanted to ask if I had a choice, but as soon as I snuck a glance at my parents and saw Dad’s face I knew that it wouldn’t do any good, so instead I just nodded. If I hadn’t nodded I think that maybe I would have cried, and there was no way I was going to give Nerdstrom that kind of satisfaction. And crying sucks anyway.
‘Excellent,’ Mrs Nordstrom said. ‘And here’s the other part of the deal. Every weekend you two boys are going to spend some time together. One weekend here at Max’s place, the next weekend at our place.’
What? Were they serious? I looked at Nerdstrom to see if he was as surprised and peed off as I was about this amazing plan, but his face was blank.
So then I looked at my parents. Mum had a kind of half smile on her face, but it was one I hadn’t seen before. And Dad was looking a bit worried, as if he wasn’t sure if this plan was such a great idea after all. But he didn’t speak up, which made me even more cross. If he thought it was as dopey a plan as I did, why didn’t he open his mouth and say something?
‘I won’t do it,’ I said. ‘I won’t do it at all. I’m not having … him teaching me maths.’
Mrs Nordstrom smiled at me. ‘It won’t be that bad -you’ll see.’
So I tried Mum next. ‘Mum, are you guys serious about this?’
She just nodded. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she said. The last time she said that was just before she took my guinea pig Murray to the vet and he never came home again, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that I didn’t trust her.
‘Dad?’ I said, but he just shook his head slowly.
‘Sorry, mate. It’s a done deal.’
Then I did something I never thought I’d do. I actually tried to get Nerdstrom and me on the same side. I said to him, ‘What do you think of this? Don’t you think this is a stupid idea?’
And he looked up and stared me right in the eye. ‘Yup,’ he said.
15 NERDSTROM TALKS ABOUT ATTITUDE
That Monday I ran into Nerdstrom at the front of our classroom, where all the bags were hanging. I was taking Heather Manning’s pink bag off the hook closest to the door and hanging my own on it, when he walked up, and as usual I saw him hesitate, just a tiny bit. ‘Max,’ he said.
‘Nerdstrom.’
When we both remembered the conversation at my place the day before, there was this embarrassed silence between us, a bit like the time I broke up with Imogen Broadleigh after we’d been going out for two days, three hours and twenty-eight minutes. Eventually I thought one of us should be the grown-up and say something, so I did. I said, ‘This is so dumb. Like I want to learn maths from you!’
‘Yeah, and hanging out with you every weekend is going to be a barrel of monkeys as well,’ he muttered, which is a pretty weird and Nerdstromy kind of thing to say, if you ask me.
‘So how are we going to get around this?’ I asked him.
He shrugged and said, ‘I don’t think I can. I don’t think we can. We have to just do it.’
‘But why you?’ I asked.
But he just shook his head and said, ‘Because I’m good at maths. And because our parents think it would be good for both of us to spend some time together, I guess. My mother’s a counsellor thing, and she thinks that I need to confront my fears head-on or something.’
‘Aha!’ I said. ‘You are scared of me!’
He didn’t even blink. ‘They were her words, not mine. So why do you think they wanted to stick us together? You don’t like me and I don’t like you very much either.’
How should I know why they wanted us to hang out together? What a dopey question! It really did seem to me like the stupidest idea in the history of the modem age. Sort of like putting a pitbull in a cage with a poodle and expecting them both to be alive the next day. Or like asking Gladys Mulholland from 6H to decorate a cake and hoping to have any cake left at the end.
‘The only way it’s going to work is if no one finds out about it,’ I said. ‘No one.’
Then Nerdstrom said something a bit mean, I thought. ‘Suits me,’ he said. ‘Why would I want people to know that I was hanging out with you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
But it turned out that he was actually being all shrewd and clever and rhetorical, because he answered his own question. ‘I wouldn’t. Hanging out with you? No way. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.’
During recess I asked Mr Sigsworth if I could talk to him, and he said I could. But first I had to tell Jared to leave us alone, because I definitely didn’t want him to know about the maths thing.
But Jared just looked puzzled. ‘Why do I have to go?’
‘Because I told you to,’ I said.
‘Just for a minute, Jared,’ said Mr Sigsworth.
Once Jared had finished rolling his eyes and left, I asked Mr Sigsworth about the big plan with me and Nerdstrom.
‘Because you each have something to offer the other,’ he said. ‘You need help with your maths – yes, you do, Max – and Triffin needs confidence. And I’d consider it a personal favour if you didn’t rock the boat too much about this.’
‘But what about spending the weekends together?’ I asked.
‘That’s something your parents thought of,’ he said. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and said, ‘It’ll be fine, Max.’
That’s what you reckon, I thought, and you’ll see what a disaster this’ll end up being.
But I didn’t say it, because even though he was part of this stupid plan I actually think he’s an OK teacher, apart from wearing too much after-shave and having Darrell for a first name.
16 THE RECRUIT
That Tuesday I saw the Year One kid from detention again. He was out in the playground with one of his little friends, and even though I thought all Year One kids looked pretty much the same, I recognised him straightaway. Maybe it was because Mr French was telling him off about something and he wasn’t even crying. If a teacher wants to make a little kid cry, all they usually have to say is, ‘Excuse me, young man, did I just see what I thought I saw?’ or ‘You two boys over there, I want to see you right now.’ It’s often enough just to look at them in a particular way. But not this kid. Mr French was really in his face, and I don’t know what it was that he’d done, but from what Jared and I could hear as we walked past, it involved girls, skirts and spiders, which made me respect that kid right away. Even though there was a teacher right in there giving him a complete shouting-at, he was hardly even blinking or anything. He was just like, ‘U-huh, OK, no worries.’
I liked that kid immediately.
After Mr French had finished with the kid and he had gone off to pick up lunch papers as his punishment, I started to walk towards him.
‘What are you doing?’Jared asked, as if it was impossible to believe that I would actually want to talk to a Year One kid, but I just ignored him. Sometimes that’s the best way to deal with Jared.
I went up to the kid and said, ‘What’s going on?’ Which probably seems like a dumb question, but asking that usually gives me a chance to see how a kid is going to cope with being talked to by someone who’s going to be in high school next year. The thing is, if they cry, then I know they’re just normal and they’re harmless. If they go, ‘I’m picking up papers, stupid. What does it look like?’, then I know they’re little upstarts who need to become the focus of a campaign of terror. But if they show a blend of respect and confidence when directly addressed by someone like me, I know that they’re the kind of person I can get to know. Especially if I’ve got some kind of objective I want to accomplish in the junior school. See, it’s always good to have someone on the inside when it comes to operating in circles you don’t usually hang out in, like Kindy.
So anyway, I said to this kid, ‘What’s going on?’, and he just shrugged and muttered something that I couldn’t quite hear. That seemed to me to be a bit disrespectful, so I shoul
d have gone straight to the campaign of terror, but there was something about the way he shrugged, something that said ‘I know I’m picking up papers, but I’m not sure why’. Which I thought was kind of cool, so I decided to give him another chance.
Why are you picking up papers?’ I asked.
He shrugged again and said, ‘I’m being punished by him.’
When he said ‘him’ and pointed with his chin at Mr French, I knew he was probably OK, so I asked, ‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Casey Reeves,’ he said. ‘I know you – you’re Max Quigley. I was in detention with you the other day.’
‘Yes, I remember you, Reeves. You were in detention for two days in a row. What did you do – wet your pants?’
But he just sniffed, and gave a chuckly little laugh and said, ‘No, I was starting fires in the toilets. You didn’t hear about that?’
I was shocked. This was big news that I hadn’t heard. ‘No, no one told me about fires in toilets. Was anyone hurt?’ I asked, and when Casey shook his head, I went, ‘Still, sounds cool.’
I looked at Jared, who was standing nearby with a slight smile on his dopey face. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that we’d just got ourselves a recruit.
17 MR SIGSWORTH SCREWS UP
Except for the aftershave, Mr Sigsworth is an OK guy, and he might even be a pretty good teacher, despite the plan he’d helped cook up with my parents and Nerdstrom’s mum. He’s not quite as much fun as Mr Steinmuller in Year Four, who can do weird voices and play the guitar heaps good, but if Mr Sigsworth did those things it would just look like he was copying, and then he wouldn’t look cool anyway.
Even though Mr Sigsworth’s mostly OK, I think his brain must sometimes stop working, just for a little while. I mean, what other explanation can there be for what happened at two o’clock that Wednesday afternoon? Me and Nerdstrom both knew that at two o’clock we should just pack up our things without any fuss and go over to the library, which is where the whole ‘tutoring’ thing was supposed to happen. Mr Sigsworth knew about that plan as well, after he got a long note signed by Nerdstrom’s mum and my parents, asking him to be discreet or something. He’d even told us. He’d said, ‘It’s OK, I’ve spoken to all of your parents, and I’m going to be very discreet.’