Tall Story - Candy Gourlay [15]
Honestly.
When the class finished laughing, Mrs Green put me in a seat at the back of the classroom, next to a boy named Joe Beedle. Joe grinned at me so broadly, I was afraid one of the spots on his cheek would burst. I nodded at him. But I wasn’t in the mood to make friends. All I wanted was to turn invisible.
Mrs Green was explaining something desperately boring as she handed out some literacy sheets.
Joe took his sheet from the pile and held one out to me.
‘Thanks,’ I muttered, taking it. But he didn’t let go.
He winked. ‘Amandolina … love the name.’
‘Yeah, thanks.’ I tugged at the sheet but still he wouldn’t let go.
‘It’s, like, got the word “doll” in it, yeah? AmanDOLLina?’
I glared at him. ‘No it hasn’t.’
‘So why do you call yourself Andi?’
I pulled hard and there was a loud rip as the sheet tore in half. Heads turned in our direction.
‘Andi … like undies … underwear … knickers? Maybe you should call yourself Knickers, yeah?’ He laughed at his own lame joke.
Something white-hot exploded behind my eyes. Before Joe Beedle could withdraw, I had his wrist in my grip.
The thing is, you know, with all the basketball training, I’m really strong. Strong enough to shoot a ball into the hoop from the halfway line. Strong enough to break a stupid boy’s wrist.
Of course I didn’t break it. The only reason Joe started crying was because of the pain.
Wimp.
Mrs Green was totally suckered in by Joe Beedle’s howling and refused to let me explain. She said I needed to learn the value of Patience and Restraint. So at the end of my first day at my new school, I had to sit in detention for an hour watching her get the Times sudoku wrong.
I should have been annoyed.
But I wasn’t.
Because stuck to the notice board behind Mrs Green’s head was a poster.
BASKETBALL, ANYONE?
Saint Simeon Souls Are RECRUITING!
Try-outs: Friday, 8.30 a.m., New Gym
13
Bernardo
‘Come on.’ Jabby adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and gestured for me to follow him down the side street.
He dribbled his ball, expertly avoiding the cracks in the asphalt as if he was running a gauntlet of defenders on a basketball court.
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
The sun was turning into a red fist in the gathering dusk. I realized that we were approaching the new sports centre crouched at the end of the road, its dome bulging above the trees like an overturned coconut shell.
The sports centre, the Arena, had been in construction for ever. The first contractor had gone bust. The second contractor was jailed for some kind of bribery scam to do with building materials. The third contractor resigned, saying the whole thing needed to be rebuilt. It was on its fourth contractor now. And nothing ever seemed to be going on.
The flimsy temporary fencing was erected many years ago when construction began. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, under the layers of graffiti, the boards had rotted away to nothing. Above the original fence, the builders had added a few more courses of marine ply. It was now so high, even I couldn’t see over it. Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted, the sign on top declared.
‘What are we doing here, Jabs?’
Jabby put his fingers to his lips. ‘Shh,’ he whispered. And then he winked. He kicked a panel of graffiti and it swung open. A secret door.
Jabby tossed the basketball through the narrow gap and slipped in after it.
I hung back. ‘It says trespassers will be—’
‘There’s never anybody here. Come on!’
I had to bend at the waist to get through the door. I followed Jabby into the Arena’s back yard.
It was a mess. A mountain of gravel listed precariously