by , Sammy J;
‘I’ll get him down, Sir,’ came a voice from below.
Justin opened one eye to see Wade Turner leering up at him.
‘Thank you, Wade,’ said Mr Atkins. ‘A truly sporting gesture. Everyone else – race to the wall, form a human pyramid, then do forty-five push-ups while holding your breath. We need to build up your lung capacity.’
As the class swarmed away, Wade stepped forward and grabbed the end of the rope. Justin started to panic. He’d always believed there was a little bit of good in everyone, but right now, staring down at Wade’s smirking, spiteful face, he wasn’t so sure. Had Wade ever experienced joy? Did he understand the concept of kindness? Could he appreciate the beauty of a sunrise?
Preliminary evidence suggested not.
‘Hold on tight,’ Wade snarled. This was easier said than done; now Justin’s arms felt like jelly snakes, too. Wade pulled firmly on the rope and walked backwards, then, without any warning, suddenly let go – sending Justin swinging helplessly back and forth like a pendulum. Chuckling to himself, Wade grabbed the rope with both hands and began twirling it around. Justin spun in circles high above him, clinging to the rope in desperation. His whole body felt like a jelly snake now. Below him, Wade continued his sinister chuckling. Finally, when Justin’s sweaty hands could take no more, he lost his grip and went soaring over Wade’s head before crashing onto the gym mats below.
He lay on his back, catching his breath, grateful for the cushioning effect of his wedgie-proof underpants.
The stench of deodorant warned him that The Smirk was approaching. Justin could remember a time, not too long ago, when nobody his age wore deodorant. Back then, school was full of interesting smells – glue sticks, freshly mown grass, the ink inside whiteboard markers. Then deodorant arrived, gathered all the interesting smells together for a meeting, and told them their services were no longer required.
Wade smirked at Justin. ‘So you gonna say thanks?’
‘What for?’ Justin’s voice was trembling.
‘For helpin’ ya down the rope.’
And that was the moment that Justin Monaghetti reached his limit.
It might have been too late to save his dignity, but it wasn’t too late to give Wade a piece of his mind.
After all, he had nothing to lose.
‘Thanks,’ said Justin, getting to his feet. He stared at Wade and took a breath. ‘And by that, I mean, thanks for demonstrating how to be a monumental jerk.’
Justin couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said. He felt a rush of adrenaline surging through his body.
Wade’s smirk didn’t budge. In fact, it grew wider as he slowly raised his hand and opened it to reveal Justin’s lucky pawn.
‘Looks like you dropped somethin’.’
Justin’s thumping heart skipped a beat. It turns out he did have something to lose.
Wade turned the pawn around in his thick, snotty fingers. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a chess piece. A pawn.’ Justin tried to act casual. He suspected his chances of retrieving it would be somewhat worse if Wade knew it was his most treasured possession.
‘Are pawns good or bad?’
Justin licked his lips. ‘Well … they can only move one square at a time, but—’
Wade was already bored. ‘So what’s the best piece?’
‘Um, technically the king is the best piece—’
‘Cool,’ said Wade, whose smirk now covered about fifty per cent of his face. ‘So that makes you the pawn, and me the king, get it?’ Wade leaned closer. ‘And the king can do whatever he wants.’
As if to prove his point, Wade stepped forward and pushed the pawn deep into Justin’s left nostril.
‘Perfect fit,’ drawled Wade. ‘Good thing you’ve got such a big nose.’
Justin winced. His face was no longer insult-proof. For the first time in his life, he was starting to doubt his pawn’s lucky powers.
Then, out of nowhere, Mr Atkins appeared. Justin couldn’t believe his luck.
‘Wade Turner, what on earth are you doing?’
Wade peeled himself off Justin and turned to face the teacher.
‘Are you hurting this boy?’ Mr Atkins crossed his arms.
Wade didn’t miss a beat. ‘No way, Sir. I was just inspecting his nose.’
‘Inspecting his nose?’
‘That’s right, Sir. I saw him stuffin’ a chess piece in there. It’s disgusting.’
‘That’s not true!’ Justin protested, before delivering the most ill-timed sneeze in Mount Willow’s history. The force of this nasal blast sent the pawn flying out of his nostril and across the floor of the gymnasium, where it came to rest, glistening, at the teacher’s feet.
Wade’s head was now officially more smirk than face.
Mr Atkins looked at the pawn in disgust. ‘Good work, Wade. Would you mind inspecting all the other noses in the class while you’re at it?’
‘Sure thing, Sir,’ said Wade, hulking off towards the other students.
Mr Atkins glared at Justin. ‘Keep your nose clean,’ he growled, ‘and you might just survive around here.’
Once he’d gone, Justin knelt down to pick up his pawn and let out a deep sigh.
‘Want me to punch him for you?’
Eliza had appeared from nowhere.
‘Shouldn’t you be at your desk?’ muttered Justin.
‘I just came to see how you’re going.’
‘Not so well.’ Justin felt humiliated. He turned his pawn around in his fingers.
‘What’s that?’
‘My lucky pawn.’ Justin felt extra-humiliated.
‘Cool!’ said Eliza, unfazed. ‘Now, I’ve been thinking. It seems that Wade is marking his territory. The way dogs do when they wee on trees. No offence.’
‘None taken.’
‘And if you take that detention, then he’s won the battle. So I don’t think you should go. In fact, I think you need to get Wade punished, as soon as possible. Then he’ll realise he’s not invincible.’
They glanced across the gym to see The Smirk pushing a small boy against a wall and peering into his nostril. Justin recognised him as the curly-haired boy he’d seen in class.
‘But the teachers don’t punish him,’ said Justin. ‘It’s like he’s a protected species.’
‘That’s why you need this.’ Eliza raised her school handbook.
‘What’s in that?’
‘Evidence, Justin. I’ve been working on this since this morning, and I’ve circled every rule that Wade Turner has broken today. I was watching him all lunchtime. I’ve written descriptions next to each one. There’s enough dirt in here to get that deodorised dimwit suspended.’
She offered the book to Justin.
‘But what am I meant to do with it?’
‘Take it to the principal. He can’t ignore this.’
Justin tentatively took the handbook. ‘Um … I’m not sure how I feel about dobbing.’
‘Someone’s got to do this. Kids will thank you one day.’
Eliza seemed confident, but Justin still wasn’t convinced. He furrowed his brow and weighed up the options. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What would Gandhi have done?’
‘I reckon Gandhi would have been a massive dobber.’
Justin nodded. That was enough for him.
‘Thanks,’ he said, with newfound resolve.
‘Hey, that’s what friends are for.’
Justin couldn’t help smiling. ‘Did you say we’re friends?’
Eliza shrugged. ‘Until the bell goes, sure.’
When did your school officially open? Were any of your teachers there at the beginning? Mount Willow Secondary School opened over one hundred years ago – in 1901, to be precise. A large crowd gathered to watch the first principal, Mr Douglas, cut a ribbon at
the top of the bell tower and declare the school open. Unfortunately, Mr Douglas suffered from a chronic stomach condition that meant he needed to visit the toilet every ten minutes. Because of this, he’d installed a lavatory halfway up the stairs (it was basically a cupboard with a metal bucket in it). There was a brief pause during the ceremony while the principal ducked to the toilet, during which the school band played extra loudly, as instructed. Then Mr Douglas pulled up his trousers, climbed the stairs and cut the ribbon, just in time for the official photograph.
Justin looked up at the smiling man in the photo outside the principal’s office, his ribbon-cutting frozen in time. Then Justin looked closer and noticed the man’s fly was undone.
A grim-faced receptionist interrupted his train of thought.
‘The principal will see you now.’
Justin entered the principal’s office. He’d been imagining a wood-panelled room complete with oak bookshelves, a fireplace and a row of marble statues. Instead, he found a mouldy-carpeted shoebox complete with an electric heater, a dead pot plant, and a cereal bowl with a mushroom growing out of it. Justin approached the desk and held out his hand.
‘I’m sorry for interrupting you, Sir. I’m Justin Monaghetti from class 7G.’
Featherstone did not look up from his paperwork.
‘What can I do for you, Justin?’
Justin took a breath, summoning the script he’d rehearsed with Eliza. ‘Sir, there is a student in my class who has been breaking rules all day long, but nobody has punished him.’ He continued, his voice shaking ever so slightly. ‘He is a threat to the stability of this school, and I’m worried his behaviour could damage the reputation of Mount Willow Secondary.’
The principal glanced up sharply, arching an angular brow in concern. Clearly, if there was a student needing discipline, Featherstone wanted a front row seat. ‘Well Justin, this is concerning indeed. What sort of behaviour?’
‘See for yourself,’ said Justin, sliding Eliza’s handbook across the table. Having spent the past half hour cramming as many of the rules into his brain as he could, he was quite happy to see the back of it.
Featherstone opened the book and examined it, his face growing redder by the page.
‘Justin, this is concerning indeed. I’ve never seen so many broken rules in one day. Rule 12: littering. Rule 19: punching. Rule 73: Using another student’s sandwich as a facial moisturiser. And you say he’s not been punished?’
‘No, Sir,’ said Justin. ‘The teachers don’t seem to notice, and when they do, he blames someone else. I even got a detention this morning after he threw a tennis ball at me.’
‘Well then, something must be done about this. Immediately.’
‘I’m glad you think so, Sir.’
‘If we don’t stamp out this behaviour on day one, who knows where it might lead?’
‘Exactly, Sir!’
‘I’m sorry for your suffering, Justin. Let’s correct this error. I propose five detentions for this ratbag to begin with, then we can monitor his behaviour accordingly.’
It took all of Justin’s willpower not to jump on the desk and perform a victory dance.
Featherstone plucked a pen from his drawer and opened a yellow notepad.
‘Now, who am I making these detentions out to?’
‘His name,’ said Justin triumphantly, ‘is Wade Turner.’
Dr Featherstone’s pen hovered in midair.
‘Wade Turner, you say?’
Justin nodded. Featherstone put his pen down.
‘Are you sure you’ve got the right boy?’
‘Definitely,’ said Justin.
‘Very well,’ said Featherstone. He seemed flustered. ‘Let me just make a photocopy of this book.’
Featherstone stood up and walked to the photocopier, then fed the handbook into a large paper shredder. The machine whirred hungrily until the book disappeared.
‘Whoops,’ said Featherstone. ‘I seem to have dropped it into the shredder instead of the photocopier. I always get those two confused. Not to worry. Why don’t we just forget it and see how things go, eh?’
Now it was Justin’s face that turned red.
‘But – Sir – you just said we needed to stamp out this behaviour.’
‘The only thing that needs stamping out is your dishonesty. Wade Turner comes from a fine family. He couldn’t possibly have been responsible for all this rule breaking. Please don’t fill my office with lies again.’
‘I’M NOT LYING!’ said Justin, a little too loudly.
The receptionist’s head poked around the door. ‘Everything okay?’
‘All under control,’ said Featherstone, smiling cheerfully. ‘Close that door for me, will you?’
The door closed. Featherstone stepped towards the window, his smile disappearing. ‘Come here.’ He beckoned to Justin, who joined him.
Below them, portable classrooms dotted the asphalt. Above them, the red-brick bell tower soared skyward.
‘School isn’t easy, Justin. Everyone faces challenges. I certainly faced difficulties when I started here. The school was a wreck. But what did I do?’
Justin took a guess. ‘You turned this school around?’
‘Correct.’ Featherstone's voice took on an icy edge. ‘You’re a fast learner. Do you want my advice? Keep your head down, and—’
Justin sighed. ‘Blend in with the crowd?’
‘Precisely.’
Featherstone pointed across the quadrangle. ‘Do you see that bell tower? It was built at the start of the twentieth century. It has survived twelve decades, two world wars, and countless Year Twelve muck-up days.’
Justin gazed at the clock on the tower, where the long hand was making its slow journey towards three o’clock.
‘Each of those clock hands, Justin, is connected to a series of gears and cogs. They turn endlessly – day in, day out – moving together in perfect synchronisation. But if just one cog stops working, the whole clock comes to a standstill. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Um … clocks should be serviced regularly?’
‘No! The point is, we are all cogs in this school. Some of us, admittedly, are larger and more important cogs than others. But so long as we all play our part …’
Featherstone checked his watch, then shot a menacing stare at Justin.
‘Well then, everything runs very smoothly indeed.’
The bell rang out from inside the tower and echoed around the schoolyard.
The principal put a hand on Justin’s shoulder and led him towards the door. ‘One class left for the day. Let’s keep those cogs turning smoothly. Because when that bell rings in forty-five minutes, you’re heading to detention, and Wade Turner is heading home. And believe me, the sooner you accept that, the better your life will be.’
Featherstone opened the door, ushered Justin out, and slammed it shut behind him.
At 3.04 pm on his first day of high school, Justin Monaghetti finally accepted defeat.
He was out of options.
There was no point denying it.
He was destined to be a loser.
At least I tried, he told himself, fighting back tears.
The shadow of the bell tower stretched before him, as did his life of misery.
Justin followed the shadow across the quadrangle until he arrived at the base of the tower. It was even more imposing up close, carrying a prestige that was sorely lacking in the other school buildings.
But Justin wasn’t there to appreciate its architectural significance. He was just looking for the closest rubbish bin.
Justin fished his lucky pawn out of his pocket and held it up to the afternoon sun.
‘Fat lot of good you’ve been,’ he said, holding his old friend over the bin. ‘Hope the rubbish truck takes you somewhere nice, like Canada.’
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His sad farewell was interrupted, however, by the sound of a window shattering.
Justin peeked around the corner and saw the gardener balancing a ladder on his shoulders – one end of which was now lodged firmly in the window of the bell tower’s front door.
‘Bugger,’ muttered the gardener. He tried pulling the ladder out, but it wouldn’t budge.
Justin took a step forward. ‘Hey, um … would you like some help?’
The gardener yanked at the ladder again. ‘Just a smaller workload. First day back’s always a killer. Lawns to mow, pools to clean …’
‘Windows to fix?’ added Justin.
The gardener chuckled. ‘Looks like we’re both having a rough day. What’s your name, buddy?’
‘Justin Monaghetti.’
‘Nice to meet you, Justin. I’m Shortbread.’
‘Like the biscuit?’
‘Love the biscuit. That’s why they call me Shortbread.’ Shortbread chuckled at his own joke. Justin, trying to be polite, chuckled too.
Shortbread turned back to the ladder and gave it one final pull. In a shower of broken glass, it came free. ‘I’d better sort this out. You should get to class, mate. Don’t want to get into more trouble.’
Justin watched Shortbread load the ladder onto his tractor, fire up the engine, and speed away.
He looked up at the clock. It was now 3.13 pm.
Thirty-two minutes until his first ever detention.
Thirty-two minutes until Eliza disappeared forever.
Thirty-two minutes until Wade won the battle.
And thirty-two minutes until Justin joined a long line of losers, just like his parents had predicted.
Then Justin looked at his lucky chess piece, and felt an idea forming.
Maybe he wasn’t out of options after all.
Maybe the answer to all his problems was in the palm of his hand.
He felt the glass crunch under his new school shoes.
He felt his arm reach through the broken window and unlock the door to the bell tower.
He felt his heart beat faster as he started to climb the wooden stairs.
He felt his lungs become tighter as his steps became quicker.