“Easy. We put them on the same team.” Peter paused and tapped his head a couple of times. “See, this is why everyone says I’m the older and wiser brother”
“You think that’ll stop him?” smirked Jack. “I’ll bet he still starts beef, he’s a troublemaker.”
“Along with his sister and her boyfriend?” Peter enquired
“Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I’ve only just met him and I don’t think that highly of Cole either. In fact, I think he’s much worse than Lorenz”
“And Charmaine?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve hardly had a chance to meet her now have I?”
“Interesting that she’s going to be Juliet, isn’t it? You going to audition for the play? Seems like your sort of thing.”
“I might just do that, who knows?” Though while he said it, he knew that the answer was that he wanted to be Romeo more than anything else in the world right now. He’d seen the beauty in that photograph and was starting to imagine what being the Romeo to her Juliet would be like.
The basketball match went off as expected. To make teams even, Peter went with three of the younger boys and Jack went with the other three. Lorenz blamed Tom for every small imperfection in the team. Tom didn’t argue but meekly accepted his fate of being the team scapegoat and Lorenz’s personal punching bag. Naturally, Jack and Peter trash-talked the whole game. Peter’s team ended up winning, and the team consisting of Jack, Lorenz, Tom, and Victor lost miserably–a house divided against itself cannot stand. Fr Culpa did as he promised and dropped in for about ten minutes to watch, and of course the boys were on their best behaviour when supervised. Lorenz would offer Tom a high five every few seconds, and nobody would push or shove or cheat. None of this fooled Fr. Culpa who knew the boys well enough to know that the moment he left, they’d turn into savages again, but at least for the time he watched them he could bring some order and dignity into the game before it became akin to a scene from Lord of the Flies again.
When the timer that Peter had set on his phone went off to signal half-time, Jack’s team was down thirty-two to ten and Lorenz had become visibly frustrated at his team’s weak link.
“Can we swap the teams around, Peter? It’s not fair. Tom’s too weak, il est faible. He can’t throw the ball hard enough.”
“Lorenz. He’s trying. Just leave him alone for more than a few seconds. Then maybe he’d be more confident.”
“It’s not the confidence he doesn’t have, it’s the muscle. Look at him,” Lorenz said accusingly, grabbing Tom’s arm to show how weak it was. Tom instantly jerked away and so Lorenz picked up the ball at his feet.
“Look, I’ll help him. Here, Tom, this is how you throw a ball. It’s not the rocket surgery,” he sneered as he threw it full pelt at Tom’s face. The thud and bloody nose that followed sent Tom running off crying and Peter hot in pursuit to console him, while Jack was left to chastise Lorenz for his stupidity. Peter caught up with Tom, and fumbling through his pockets, gave him a handful of dirty tissues as they went through the gate out of the basketball court, walking a small distance to sit under a nearby tree.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Tom. I know it wasn’t my fault, but I’m sorry he did it anyway. And besides, I probably should’ve seen what he was doing and I could have stopped him.”
The usual silence from Tom, so Peter decided to continue.
“I know Lorenz bullies you, and I know it’s hard to compete against the older, bigger boys. But…but things are going to get better, Tom, I promise. I’m going to make them better for you. If Lorenz bullies you, you just tell me and I’ll sort it out, okay?”
“Okay,” whispered Tom hoarsely.
“Great, good. I’m glad we had this chat, Tom.” Peter slapped him on the back, “Things are going to be better for you from now on.”
After about five minutes they went back to playing basketball and Lorenz eased up on the constant sledging. Perhaps, Peter thought, there was some empathy in Lorenz’s mean heart after all.
After the match, they all collapsed onto the grass next to the courts, every one of them utterly exhausted from the chaotic and violent match. They were all in good merriment and felt like they had bonded together as a group during the match.
“Did you know there’s a sporting competition between different peer support groups here? We should enter,” started Adam once they had all caught their breath.
Lorenz was the first to pipe in, as usual. “Yes, we should. And I guess…I guess we’re all a good team.” It almost seemed like he had choked on these last few words, but for once he had complimented the little thorn in his side. But then the temptation was too much and Lorenz couldn’t stop himself from continuing. “Except Tom,” he said. “We need all strong members and not…”
“Oh, shut up, Lorenz,” Peter answered. “What sporting events would we need to train for?”
Adam continued, “It’s a pentathlon with basketball, soccer, running, water polo, and wrestling. We could do it.”
“That sounds like a possibility. We’re all pretty fast and strong,” Peter replied. It would, after all, be a very good bonding activity.
“Except…” Lorenz started to mumble.
“Shut it,” Jack snapped.
“You know,” Joe started at Peter and Jack, “we were interrupted at lunch and you never told us an interesting fact about yourselves. So what brings you guys here? What’s your story?”
“Oh, it’s complicated, you know? We were going to St. Raymond’s College, in the city. But then we were expelled so our dad sent us here. This is our first boarding school experience.” Peter replied, trying to avoid details but knowing that he’d be pressed to find out more.
Lorenz, being the curious guy he was, decided to be the one to press for more. “So why were you expelled then? Who did you sleep with? Or, who did you kill…or, or…I bet it was gory!” he said, his eyes opening wide in excitement and intrigue.
“No, no. Nothing like that,” Jack answered. “It’s just too complicated to go into. It’s a long story.”
“We have a long time before dinner,” Victor smiled.
The rest of the late afternoon was whiled away sharing story after story between themselves. One story is of the utmost importance, and that is the one I will tell you now. The story of what actually happened at St. Raymond’s College that led to Peter and Jack’s expulsion. See, they had always been seen as trustworthy kids, especially amongst their peers, which often meant that they were privy to the intimate revelations of their friends. They became accustomed to being a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on for their colleagues in times of need. Then one day, Peter read a book about a man who invited strangers to write their deepest, darkest secret down anonymously on a postcard and mail it to his address. He received thousands and thousands of postcards. The rest of the story is irrelevant—something about him going on a quest to find these people and improving their lives and then he drowns in a hotel pool after an accident with a dumbbell and a chain. But from this they gleaned the fact that they could organise and document the secrets that they were being told. So the twins had bought a huge book of empty pages and had invited a few of their close friends to arrange a time where they could tell their secret, under the promise of absolute privacy and discretion that the book would be kept “under lock and key,” so to speak. Word got out amongst the school’s student body through the omnipresent gossip mill and fairly soon the boys had a booking every night with a peer divulging his most obtrusive lusts, or admitting to his most heinous crimes.
This little arrangement worked well for a couple of months, but as is often the case with precarious situations, the ironic phrase “what could possibly go wrong” comes into mind. The answer is a lot. A lot could possibly go wrong and did go wrong. The staff of St. Raymond’s found out about the book and the events that followed saw the twins expelled. Just after their expulsion, Roger heard from a friend of a distant relative about the Draconian discipline of St. Schol
astica’s and so had resolved to send the boys to St. Benedict’s where they might be reformed and directed back onto the right path. Little did he know of the astronomical difference between St. Scholastica’s and its brother school. But the twins had promised to behave this time, and they both had every intention of keeping that promise with their father.
The light was beginning to fade as the twins wrapped up their story, and it was almost dinner time so they all stood up and started heading back towards the college building. As they entered the building, Mr. Latan appeared through a doorway with an esky-sized cardboard box, somewhat struggling to carry it around.
“Hi boys, can one of you do a job for me? I need someone to take this to St. Scholastica’s – it’s not as heavy as it looks.”
“Sure, I will,” Jack offered. He hadn’t been across to the other side and was always happy to go for a walk.
“Great, here you go.” Mr. Latan awkwardly transferred the box into Jack’s waiting arms. He led Jack out the door and pointed down a footpath to a gate about a hundred metres away. “When you get to that gate,” he said, “press the button on the side of the wall and it’ll connect to the intercom at St. Scholastica’s, and they’ll unlock the door for you. Once you’re done, come straight back for dinner.”
Jack rested the box on the balustrade of the stairs that led to the front door and then fumbled with it to try to work out the best grip on it. He bent down and then rose again. Up got Jack, and off he trot, as fast he could caper…no wait, sorry wrong story. He grasped the box from the bottom and just started walking normally over to the gate. “This definitely IS as heavy as it looks,” he thought to himself. He wondered what was in there—a microwave? No, too big. Books perhaps? Maybe an anvil? It felt like it. He noticed, strangely, that scrawled onto it in thick permanent marker was “M. CULPA.”
After a brief conversation over the intercom, the gate swung open and he found himself finally on the other side of the red brick wall. The change in scenery struck him at once: manicured gardens with wooden benches and old street lamps like something out of Narnia. No overgrown grass invading the pathways over here.
He ambled towards the towering façade of St. Scholastica’s, continually in awe of his beautiful surroundings. The air smelled sweeter over here too, perhaps it was the flowers or perhaps just the lack of boys. He entered into the front office and dropped the box down in front of the cranky-looking admin lady. He was about to start on his way back to St. Benedict’s, his stomach telling him it was definitely dinner time, when he heard a voice call out behind him.
“Hey, you,” a girl called.
He turned around to see a sandy-blond girl rushing light-footedly down the stairs. He recognised her straight away. “Me?” he questioned.
“Yeah, aren’t you Cole’s new roommate?” she asked, “or are you his twin?”
“Yeah, that’s me, I guess. Why?”
“I’m his girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“Walk with me,” she said, making sure that no-one was around to see her, she led him back out the door and started down the path. “I assume St. Benedict’s is expecting you back?”
“Yeah of course—it’s dinner time.”
“Well—you know the intercom at the gate? It’s just an intercom—there’s no camera. So I don’t suppose you’d mind if I walked through with you when you buzz in?”
Jack thought about it—on the one hand he wouldn’t mind walking and talking with her, but on the other hand he didn’t want her and Cole making out in his room that night.
“No sorry, I’d better not,” he replied as he kept walking. But she kept following, clinging onto his arm.
“Oh, come on, please?”
“No, now I need to get back so please stop grabbing me.”
“Not even for a kiss on the cheek?” Charmaine tempted him.
Jack thought on it again—the image of Cole roughing him up, or simply just murdering him, flashed through his mind once more.
“No. Now goodnight.” They had reached the gate together and Jack was ready to go home.
“Okay, well thanks anyway. Can I have a hug goodnight? Because I won’t be able to get one from Cole.”
“Okay—just a hug.” Jack obliged.
It was a nice hug, and a long hug, and Jack was half reconsidering the offer of a kiss, but they eventually unclasped and wished each other well before Jack pressed the intercom and passed through the gate again. He was just about to click it closed when he looked back one more time and saw Charmaine dangling his phone precariously in front of her, holding on to just one corner of it. He pat his back pocket—dang, she must have grabbed it during the hug.
“Let me through and you can have it back” she smugly smiled.
“Fine.” Jack said stubbornly, as he let her through. She gave the phone back to him, leaned in and gave him a small peck on the cheek.
“You’re cute when you’re confused,” she said, and then started walking along the path, leaving Jack gaping at the gate that he was still holding open.
So it followed that there was an awkward tension in room 601 that night when Jack entered the dorm, hardly any words were spoken between the two boys. When it came time to get ready for lights out, Jack made sure that Cole was watching him get undressed for bed, so that the photo of his mother could “accidentally” fall onto Cole’s bed as he pulled his shorts down to his feet.
“Oh, sorry about that.” Jack started. “Just that picture of my mum I was telling you about earlier,” to which Cole only made a small grunt of acknowledgement with a distinct absence of words, and then switched off the light to sleep.
Meanwhile, Peter had taken it upon himself to go and talk to Lorenz in his room about his actions earlier in the day.
“You know, he really does get upset about how you treat him,” Peter began. “Why do you have to be so mean to him.”
“He doesn’t mind it,” Lorenz replied. “It’s like the water off a fish’s back. He probably finds it funny.”
“Water off a duck’s back, Lorenz, a duck’s back. And he doesn’t find it funny, and neither does anyone in the group. You don’t need to show off to us. We know you’re bigger than him.”
Lorenz was silent.
“Well, try to be nice to him and then we’ll like you a lot more. Don’t be mean just to impress a few stupid kids.” Peter felt like he at least had started to get through to Lorenz on this, perhaps he could make a difference to the young boy’s way of thinking.
As the moon rose higher in the cloudy sky, the school assumed its usual eerie silence. All was still apart from the birds flapping in the air above, others nesting in the trees ready for night.
“Perhaps these new boys will stop the others from bullying me,” Thomas thought as he dozed off, thinking what a great afternoon he had had. He turned to look out the window, from which he could see a single tree on a hill, with a bench under it facing to overlook the forest about a hundred metres from the school. He looked up at the stars and they seemed to glisten more brightly that night, twinkling especially for him. He shifted his focus to the distant St. Scholastica’s where he could see a few of the girls’ bedroom lights still on. He focused on one in particular. “I wonder how far away that is?” he asked himself. As he watched the meandering breeze blow the glistening pine needles in the moonlight, he slipped into a deep and comfortable sleep. The world, for once, made a little more sense to him.
CHAPTER V
“All happy families are alike; each unhappy
family is unhappy in its own way.”
— Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
The interesting thing with identical twins is that, even though they may be physically identical, they are often far from identical in mind and personality. Although Peter and Jack were difficult—if not impossible—to tell apart if you didn’t know them well, their habits and way of doing things could quickly alert you to who was who. Peter had always leaned towards being more patient, thoughtful, and pe
dantically careful, while Jack tended to charge head first into things, often ignoring details and making mistakes. He didn’t even notice the night before that he had set his alarm clock far too early.
Thus, the still empty silence of the school was disturbed by Jack’s alarm blaring its merry way through whatever insipid and formulaic rubbish was on the radio at the ungodly hour of five a.m., startling him so much that he awoke having no idea that he wasn’t at home. In the confusing darkness, he lurched the way he would at home to switch the alarm off, thereby falling out of his new bed in a knot of sheets and hitting the floor like a sack of potatoes. All of which woke Cole from his slumber, who was none too happy to be disturbed at that time.
“Idiot,” he muttered as he picked up a book from his bedside table and threw it square at Jack’s head, then rolled over to try to get back to sleep.
Perhaps one of the best feelings in the world (apart from going to the toilet after a long day of holding one’s bladder) is the feeling of waking up early and realising you can go back to sleep. This was not Cole’s way of thinking as he still had two hours of sleep left to his disposal and was not what would you would call a “morning person.” Each morning the college schedule was the same: a wakeup call was put over the P.A. at seven o’clock with notices read out by Mr. Latan each morning in the most dreary and disinterested voice you have ever heard. You know, the usual things that people just can’t muster the enthusiasm to care about at that time of the morning—what time choir’s on, which group is on lunch clean-up duty, the bible verse for the day—that sort of thing. Morning exercise was then done to the prerogative of the sports teacher, Mr. Coubertin, which usually just consisted of a jog or a swim in the pool that sat next to the dividing wall, but sometimes if Mr. Coubertin felt ambitious, team sports or competitive challenges would be organised. This was always followed by a half hour to shower and prepare for the day, and then breakfast was served at half past eight. Woe to you if you weren’t ready for breakfast exactly on time—the doors would be locked precisely on the school bell tower’s chime of half past and you would go hungry until lunch.
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