1
Just that morning he had arrived at
school—the new boy—with a clean, freshly ironed shirt, leather shoes and a tie
fastened round his neck, in total contrast to a lot of the other boys, who
sported stained shirts and work boots. Right from the beginning this new kid
was different; and things weren’t going to get much better.
The
news that the Johnson kid was coming to school on that particular day spread
through the student body quicker than a brush fire through dry grass. So
thoroughly was it known that the front yard of the school quickly became filled
with one hundred and two eager faces waiting and watching, wanting an early
glimpse of the new kid, to take a measure of him.
Their
arrival was no different to the arrival of hundreds of other kids. The family
car—a well loved and albeit, well-used Ford station wagon—pulled alongside the
kerb, idled for what seemed an eternity before finally spluttering to a halt
the way cars do in the middle of winter. The front doors opened and you could
almost swear that the wider the doors were thrown open, the more pronounced the
collective sigh was among the horde watching.
And
suddenly, there he was. Nathan Johnson, stepping onto the footpath, bag over
his shoulder. He stared at his new school without any emotion showing on his
face. To this day it was unknown what his first impressions were, whether it
was or wasn’t what he expected, whether he felt lost, annoyed, or even
flattered by the presence of almost the entire school. He merely turned around
to face his mother, who slung her handbag over her shoulder and moved over to
the other side of the car.
Nathan
led the procession with his mother in tow; just looking at her confirmed to all
that the stories going around town were true. She was rather ordinary to look
at in a pair of jeans and a shirt, her face fixed in a rigid smile unlike the
face of her son. She walked with a precise, measured step, as did Nathan; both
had long legs and arms that made them look both fragile and strong at the same
time, the fragility being illusionary, a misconception due to their height. Mrs.
Johnson’s eyes showed nervousness as they darted left and right inside their
sockets, scanning the crowd that had gathered to watch her son’s entrance. They
relaxed immeasurably when the principal, Mr. Frump, appeared at the top step of
the front office, looking a little too neat in shirt and tie, dress he wore
only on special occasions. He guided them inside his office with a wave of his
hand, bringing the grand event to an end.
David
Gray chewed his lip and shook his head.
“That’s
it?” someone said, breaking the silence that had held them so completely over
the two or so minutes that it had taken for the Johnson’s to arrive and
disappear.
“Who
did you expect, you dolt?” A terse reply. “The fucking president?” It was only
Tyson Maloney who would say something so barbaric. “You should’ve seen all ya
faces as Boy Wonder strolled up the path like a fuckin’ little king.” He
snorted derisively, before storming away with his “gang” in tow.
David
watched the small group of boys leave, crowding around Tyson who stood out
because of his sheer size. Every school had a school bully, and Tyson was theirs. Like so many bullies, he was larger than most of the kids in school,
only because he was two years older than the second oldest kid in school. And
like so many other bullies in so many other schools, Tyson was not “brain”
material. In fact, you were doing him an injustice to call him stupid. The
teachers disliked him, and having made him repeat twice, decided that even if
he fails year six again, next year he was going to high school.
David
could imagine the intense relief both staff and students would feel with Tyson
out of their midst. The playground would be much quieter, and Frump would have
so many afternoons free instead of having to watch over Tyson at afternoon
detention.
But
that was next year. Right now, Tyson reigned supreme and made no effort to hide
the fact. He was fourteen years old, and that meant that everyone else owed him
respect. Those who didn’t respect him, he dealt with severely. It wasn’t hard
to imagine exactly what was going through his mind as he vanished around the
back with his loyal band of misfits, who hung around him like snapping hyenas. There
was Vincent Dollabella for instance; a jelly-spined coward if ever there was
one. Why Tyson accepted him was one of those infinitesimal mysteries of the
world. Maybe it was that oily charm of his, or just his oily hair. Either way,
Vinnie (as he liked to be known) could almost have been Tyson’s second man had
it not been for Damien Treloar. He was everything Vinnie wasn’t; strong and
good looking, except for the way his left eyelid twitched occasionally. It was
a well accepted fact that Damien would inherit Tyson’s mantle as school bully
when Tyson was promoted (along with Vinnie) to high school, though try as he
could, Damien would not have the same power that Tyson possessed.
There
would only be one thought predominant in Tyson’s mind that morning. Nathan
Johnson, and more importantly, what to do with him. It was plainly obvious that
a new student worried him, particularly one in the sixth grade, one that just
might threaten Tyson’s balance of power. Was Nathan Johnson one of them, or
wasn’t he?
There
were really only two groups he could belong to: those Tyson beat up on, and
those he didn’t. David was one of the kids Tyson managed to leave alone, for
reasons he knew not. His main target seemed to be the kids whose fathers were
well off financially, for these kids were often just as spineless as Vinnie
Dollabella, as if all the money their fathers’ hoard robbed them of their
strength. It was these kids who paid for Tyson’s lunch when he was strapped for
cash—which was nearly every day because any pocket money he earned was spent on
cigarettes. Another reason why David wasn’t a target for his provocation was
that when he needed the money, he simply wasn’t around. Living just around the
corner from the school meant that he was one of the few privileged students to
have a lunch pass.
Lunch,
however, was the last thing on his mind at the moment, for equipped with the
full knowledge of Tyson’s past, David felt sure something was going to happen. So
too did David’s friends, who sat with him in a small group, looking around with
smiles on their faces. They all lived out of town, like a great majority of
kids in Rand, on farms where they helped their Dads doing farm stuff, like
driving tractors and exciting shit like that. In fact, David was probably the
only one in sixth grade who couldn’t drive a tractor, or worse yet—couldn’t
ride a motorbike. Working on the farm explained why most of them were built
like tanks and wore work boots all of the time and felt like they were being
strangled when forced to wear a tie. It was also partly the reason why all of
them would be going to Boarding School next year. The other reason was to do
with money, which most of the farmers seemed to have in abundance, even in bad
years.
So, the question began. What was to happen to Nathan on his first
day at school? If his pristine uniform was the first benchmark of
separation, then the second was to occur only minutes after entering the
classroom for the first time. No sooner had he seated himself, opened his book,
dug out his pen from a brand new pencil case, was he required by the teacher to
stand up and give an impromptu speech to the class. It would seem that from
this moment on, in this cold and frosty auspicious July morning, that Nathan
Johnson’s day would be marked with humiliation on top of humiliation.
Cowed
on by the class, with Tyson at the very back adding his two cents worth, Nathan
had no option but to rise slowly to his feet and walk to the front of the
classroom. Again, he walked with that dignified action, each foot precisely
placed on the ground, giving off a slight squeak as his new leather shoes began
to wear in. His uniform was brand new, every crease fresh from the
manufacturer, giving him an over neat appearance that would have destroyed him
at that very moment were it not for the way his tie now dangled loosely from
his neck. He pawed at the hanging piece of material earnestly, a smattering of
colour rising to his cheeks that may have first been construed as
embarrassment. Nathan was not exactly the sort that girls would throw
themselves at. He was ruggedly handsome, with a strong face, blonde hair that
was razor straight and a short nose. His only vice was his eyes, those cold icy
eyes that stared with the intensity of laser beams. He raked the class of
seventeen with those impeccable eyes. He
was assessing the class as much as they were him to the extent that the excited
cheers intent on embarrassing Nathan soon wound around to embarrass the person
from whom they came. When he spoke, it was in a clear, even voice. He was a
natural public speaker, something which most of the other kids found
arduous at the best of times. Once he overcome the rigidity of his audience, he
delivered a fine speech full of wit and dripping with so much honey that he
could have almost won them all over. Almost.
Nobody
had counted on lunchtime lasting those extra five minutes. Least of all Nathan
Johnson. Nor would those involved realise the significance of those extra five
minutes; for three people, it would mark a turning point in their lives.
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