• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

'We don't even have the net any more. And he wasn't arguing, just shooting stuff,' I say.

'I've lost five kilos,' he continues. 'I get blurred vision. I could be going blind. Do you have any idea how scary that is? What if I had a car accident?'

'You don't drive yet,' I say. 'You could get your eyes tested.'

I met Declan the day we moved in. The moving truck was parked outside, we'd just stepped out of the car with the goldfish in a bucket and the first words he said to me were, 'I'm dying.' I believed him! I even got teary. He was so pale and thin with dark all around his eyes – but when I looked more closely at him later I discovered it was all make-up.

Declan wears foundation. He calls it his 'lotion'. He buys the really expensive men's range stuff at the Clinique counter in Myer, which is just dumb because if he's going to be non-gender specific as a statement, then he should be happy to call it foundation and just buy the cheap stuff at Coles.

'Get me a drink, will you?' I ask.

He glares. 'I have cancer and you don't even care.'

'We don't have anything to drink at our place. And I have to watch those little kids stealing our stuff.' I point to the boys, who have their backs to me. One peeks over his shoulder.

'Oi!' I shout, standing. They jump on their bikes and pedal furiously. I can't tell what they've stolen. I guess it doesn't matter. I don't even know what we have left any more.

'If Bryce Cole makes so much money betting on horses then how come he hasn't got his own house?' Declan asks.

I don't know the answer. I look up and see Declan's mum staring at us from her lounge room.

'Your mother so hates me,' I observe.

Declan's mother is twitchy and insane. I don't think it's fair that she hates me, so I do my best to add to her insanity by randomly tilting the pictures on the wall, or de-alphabetising her books-by-the-metre when she's not looking.

Declan sees her too. He stands up. 'That's it. Let's drink beer in the roof.'

Annie from the granny flat agrees to take over the garage sale.

Sometimes Declan and I sneak into my roof space and drink his dad's beer. We don't like beer, so we have a few sips and then leave the rest. We're sure that if we try hard enough we can learn to like it, and then we'd be cool at parties, if ever anyone invited us to one and we needed to drink beer.

There are about fifty open beers in our roof space. We've lined them up in the lowest part so we don't accidentally knock them over (really accidentally – not Finsbury accidentally).

Declan and I sit there in the dark on boogie boards we've balanced over the beams. If Mum knew they were up here she'd make us drag them down and sell them.

'Try imagining that it's lemonade,' Declan suggests.

I close my eyes and take a big gulp. The beer Declan has brought today is light and very cold, but still sour. 'It's okay,' I say. 'What about if we put cordial in it?'

'We can't take cordial to the party,' Declan says. 'That would not be cool.'

'We could bring it in a hip flask.'

Declan holds his nose and drains the bottle. He places it on a new beam – the empty bottle beam. 'It's not so bad. Now your turn.'

Declan holds my nose for me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining 7Up. I scull as much as I can, but only get halfway. Then I swallow wrong and start coughing. I'm trying to cough quietly because no one is supposed to know we're up here. In the semi-gloom I can see Declan shaking his head.

'Do we have to learn how to drink beer?' I complain. 'No one is going to invite me to any parties. Not any more.'

'You could be my date.'

I laugh. 'No one is inviting you to any parties either.'

He doesn't answer and I feel bad. Declan never talks about any of the kids from his school – not anyone specific. When I picture him at school I imagine him at the edge of a group of guys who let him hang around because his mum volunteers at the canteen and can get them free stuff. But he hardly ever goes to school. He avoids it, so it could be worse than that.

In my mind's eye I can