Dreamrider (2 page)

‘Is that the best you can do?' I said. ‘Come on, guys. How about the two of you, eh? Here.'

I turned slightly to present them with equal target areas. I opened my legs for balance and put my hands behind my back.

‘Let's go,' I said. ‘I haven't got all day.'

I kept the sun above me as they punched and kicked. At one point my nose exploded, sending a plume of blood in the air. The droplets glittered and flecked Callum's cheek. I lost some teeth to another blow. I felt them splinter. I spat the pieces into Damien's face and smiled.

They stopped then. They stood panting, faces blooded. I wouldn't let them run, though they wanted to. I was the most terrifying thing they had ever seen. The broken bones, the blood, the smashed teeth. But the greatest horror was my smile.

‘I'm a little disappointed, boys,' I said. I rolled my bruised tongue around and discovered a couple more shattered teeth. I spat the pieces into my hand and held them out to Callum. He reached out and I placed them into his palm.

‘Here's what I think,' I continued. ‘You should apologise to me. I mean, look. I'm a mess, and I didn't deserve it. The least you can do is say you're sorry.'

‘Sorry,' said Damien.

‘Sorry,' said Callum.

‘On your knees,' I said.

They started crying then and I allowed that. As they knelt before me, I noticed spreading stains on the front of their shorts. That made me angry. I thought they were more scared than sorry. They were mourning the outcome, not the events before it.

‘Get up,' I said.

They did, of course. They stood before me, heads bowed. Crushed.

‘You're not sorry enough,' I said. ‘So I'm going to have to make you sorry enough.'

I made the sun move and circle. It created a strange effect, the shadows dancing over our bodies. Darkness dappled the grass and washed us. I must have looked more terrifying then, as shadows swirled. My face – my crushed nose, my broken teeth, my bloodied eye-sockets – plunged into darkness briefly, before the grisly mess lit up again. Demonic.

I lifted my arms and the heads of the boys rose, as if connected by a thread to my outstretched fingers. They knew something terrible was going to happen. I let them bathe in the coldness of knowledge while I kept their eyes on the flashing ruin of my face.

I lifted my arms out and above my shoulders. And then I swept down and inwards. I braced my fingers and thrust my hands beneath their ribs. I felt the warm slide into their bodies, flesh parting like water. I fixed attention on their eyes, flooded with dull surprise. I kept my hands still for a moment and then pushed up and in, until I found the slimy knots of muscle, the pulse of blood pumping, jerking. I pulled back down.

The boys stood for a moment, but their eyes were snuffed. They crumpled onto the stained grass. I let the sun revolve once more as I stood above their bodies, then I raised my head and howled my dark joy at the sky.

I knew the glass would be behind me. If I turned – when I turned – I would see the slight curve in its surface and my own young face, a ghostly reflection. There would be nothing behind the glass, but I would sense movement within the blackness at its centre. Then the colours flickering into life. A burst of orange in the top right corner, a streak of yellow. Finally the tight ball of terror as something stirred beneath the surface. Air hot, pain in my chest, a scream frozen on my lips.

I would face that. Later. I spread my bloodied arms and held the world. I'm the fat boy. I'm Michael Terny.

I killed two kids at school today.

2
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I stood under the shower without moving. I can do that for an hour, sometimes. Just letting the water flow over me. Safe. I didn't have time today though.

First day of school and the eggs were in the microwave.

I towelled myself dry and thought about clothes. Clothes can make a difference. Not always. Not often, I had to admit. I chose blue shorts. Not too daggy. Plain white T-shirt. Scuffed runners. I examined my image in the wardrobe mirror, but not for long.

As I went into the kitchen, Dad brushed past and into the bathroom. He wasn't in a good mood. The microwave pinged and I shoved bread into the toaster. Mary stood by the back door. She smiled as I opened the fridge.

‘Sleep well, Michael?' she asked.

‘Not bad,' I lied.

‘Nervous about your first day?'

‘A bit.'

The toast popped and I buttered two slices. Not mine. Low fat spread on mine. Dad insisted.

‘Ah, you'll be right, mate,' she said. ‘Just don't take any crap. Okay?'

I nodded, took the eggs from the microwave and put the bowl on the table. Mary came over and lowered her voice.

‘Your lunch is in your bag, Michael. And I think a little extra something might have fallen in. By accident.' She gave me a slow wink and I had to smile.

‘Thanks,' I said. She did that for me sometimes. A bag of chips, a chocolate biscuit. It was our secret. Dad would lose it if he knew. I was never allowed to eat from school canteens. He didn't trust me with food. Trouble often happened at lunchtime, when I was sitting on a bench by myself with low fat yoghurt, crackers, fruit spread out around me. Someone would say something. Someone eating a cheeseburger.

‘What's that shit, fat boy?' he'd say. And then I'd have to pretend I hadn't heard. And then . . .

I spooned scrambled eggs from the bowl onto my toast as Dad came in, hair slicked back, wearing a singlet and thongs. It was his first day too. He sat opposite and glanced at my plate, checking out the portion. He always did that. He rationed everything. Then he helped himself to eggs. Mary sat beside him, but she wasn't eating. She didn't do breakfast.

‘Ah,' she said. ‘The men off to work. Warms my heart, so it does.'

Dad just shovelled egg into his mouth. Mary watched us and smiled.

‘You can't work without a decent breakfast,' she said. ‘You need to keep your blood sugars up. The pair of you. Stops you flagging during the day.'

‘I'm still hungry,' I said. That was a mistake. ‘A bit,' I added.

Dad pointed his fork at me.

‘You're always hungry, you,' he said. ‘If you spent less time feeding your face and more time exercising, you wouldn't be in that bloody state.'

Mary sighed.

‘Now, Joe,' she said. ‘Come on. Everyone needs a solid breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day.' I thought this was a bit rich, coming from someone who never seemed to eat.

Dad didn't reply. He finished his meal in silence and glanced at his watch.

‘I'll give you a lift to school,' he said. ‘Only today, though.'

I was pleased. I hate that first bus journey to a new school. You can never get a seat. Even if there are plenty of empty seats, they are always being saved for a friend. Even the empty rows turn out to be reserved. And then you have to get up while everyone stares at you.

Mary kissed me on the cheek as I left.

‘Have a good day, Mikey,' she whispered as I closed the front door.

Dad started up the ute and we set off, belching a black cloud of diesel behind us. The ute had seen better days, but the engine turned over and it got us from A to B. Dad said that was the important thing.

I watched the town roll past. Dad's not great on small talk and I didn't have anything to say. I was hoping the school would be in a decent neighbourhood. That can be important. If you're in a good area, then the kids are less likely to cause trouble, in and out of class. Not always, though. Some of the worst trouble I've had has been in ‘good' middle-class schools. I hadn't seen my new school yet. Dad had arranged it all. Talked to the Principal, filled out the enrolment forms. Didn't mention it to me. Mary didn't know much either, when I asked her. Like I said, Dad wasn't good at communication and I didn't push him.

We drove through slowly changing suburbs where the houses were more run-down. Some of the shops had boards on the windows. Cars were older, gardens less cared for. And then we pulled out on a main road and I could see the school in the distance. It had to be.

I knew at once I wasn't going to like it. The buildings looked clean, but they were too close together, jammed in and uncomfortable. Kids were milling outside, getting out of cars or walking from the bus stop. I couldn't tell anything about the school from them. Kids are the same everywhere. But at least they knew each other. I knew no one.

Dad pulled into the bus bay.

‘Stay out of trouble, okay?' he said.

There was no point telling him I didn't have much choice, that trouble found me. He saw things differently.

‘Okay,' I said.

‘And check out the sports. See if they've got a boxing club.'

I nodded. He said this at every school. None of them ever had a boxing club. I'd given up telling him.

I got out and he drove off without another word.

I hate that first time, standing across the road from a school and knowing you've got to go in, sort things out, talk to people, attend classes with strangers staring at you. I had done it many times, but I still hated it. I crossed the road quickly and went in through the gates.

I wanted to get inside the building but they hadn't opened the doors. I was forced to wait on the expanse of concrete outside the main entrance, an island among continents of surging kids. I kept my head down and tried to be invisible.

‘Hey.'

I shifted the school bag on my shoulder and glanced up, without moving my head. The voice was light and friendly, but that doesn't always mean safe.

She was small and rounded, with dark hair that swung across her eyes. I took in the basic details and looked down again. Her eyes, beneath the curtain of hair, were kind. I always notice the eyes first.

‘New kid?'

‘Yeah,' I mumbled. I shifted the straps on my school bag again.

‘Can I help?'

I shrugged.

‘Have you got a timetable?'

I shook my head.

‘Well. That's the first thing you need to get sorted. Go to the office. They'll help.'

‘Thanks,' I said to the floor.

‘No worries. See you round, maybe.'

‘Yeah. Thanks,' I added, but she had gone. A friendly kid. I was grateful for that. And sorry I hadn't been more friendly in return.

The bell sounded. It was harsh and cold. Kids flooded towards various entrances. I moved as well. If you want to be invisible, it's good to move with the crowds.

I suppose I wasn't looking where I was going. Too focused on the door and not paying enough attention. I caught the boy with my shoulder, knocking his drink carton. A spurt of iced coffee landed on his arm even though he arched his body away.

‘Sorry,' I mumbled.

He didn't reply. He just glared at me, pale blue eyes below a fringe of tangled red hair. I thought briefly of offering to buy him another drink, but I decided it wasn't wise.

‘Sorry,' I repeated and turned away towards the steps. I could feel his eyes on my back.

It was dark inside the school and there was a musty smell of old papers. At least the signs on the walls were clear and I found my way to the office quickly. A woman took my name and I sat in the waiting area. Kids wandered through the office, collecting timetables, checking in skateboards. One or two glanced at me, but I looked the other way. After about five minutes, another woman came out from an office down the corridor and called my name. I followed her. She sat behind a desk and I sat in a soft chair facing her. She tapped on a keyboard and then smiled at me.

‘Welcome to Millways High School, Michael. I'm Miss Palmer and I'm the Assistant Principal in charge of curriculum. We hope you're going to be happy here.'

‘Thanks, Miss,' I said.

She had kind eyes, like the girl outside. Two people promising kindness. That didn't happen often on the first day. It offered a balance to the bad feelings that seemed soaked into the school building. Her eyes were brown and soft, with a tinge of severity beneath the surface, as if her mood could switch quickly. Her hair was grey and coarse, tied back from her face and clipped at the nape of her neck. It made her appear stern. Maybe that was the idea. I took in all this in one sideways glance.

I'm good at details. I suppose it's because I keep looking for differences. It makes you pay attention.

‘Now. Your father has already done the paperwork for your enrolment, Michael, so I just have to give you your timetable and take you to Home Group. Your Home Group teacher is Mr Atkins. You'll like him. He's the person who arranges everything for you, does all the administration. And he's the person you would go to if you were experiencing any problems. Social as well as academic. So, he's your closest contact at the school, at least among the teaching staff. Do you understand?'

I nodded. Miss Palmer took a sheet from the printer beside her computer and handed it to me.

‘Here's your timetable,' she said. ‘You'll soon get used to the place. Anywhere new seems strange at first, but it won't take you long to settle down, I'm sure.'

She leaned back in her chair. There was something else she wanted to say, but she didn't know how to tackle it. I waited.

‘Now, Michael . . . or do you prefer Mike?'

‘Michael.'

‘Well, Michael. I've not yet received reports from your previous schools, but your father told me you had been to several in the last few years. Can you remember how many?'

I shrugged. ‘Seven.'

‘Seven! In, what . . .' She glanced down at the enrolment form. ‘Less than four years?' She smiled. ‘I guess you don't need me to tell you about coming to terms with strange places. You must be quite the expert. But your father also said you've had bad experiences in the past. Some bullying.' She tapped her front teeth with a pen. ‘Can you tell me anything about that?'

I shrugged and studied a poster over her right shoulder. I was starting to like Miss Palmer. She seemed honest, and that hadn't been the case in my other schools. Bullying was something they wanted to keep buried. Maybe Miss Palmer didn't see it like that. I wasn't sure it would change anything, but that was beside the point.