Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain Read online

  This Monday morning, I’m standing in front of the sign. It reads:

  Kind words are the easiest to speak.

  A voice booms behind me, ‘EMO!’

  ‘Hi, Hunter,’ I say, without bothering to turn around.

  ‘Whoa! Emo the Emu has eyes in the back of his head.’ Hunter slaps me on the shoulder. He reads the sign and then glances my way. ‘That’s bull. I can just as easily call you,’ he looks at my clothes, ‘the Black Assassin as I can call you Emo.’

  ‘Or Jesse,’ I suggest.

  ‘Now why would I bother calling you by your real name, Darkman?’

  ‘Hunter, you are an endless font of meaningless names,’ I say.

  ‘You said it, Bleakboy.’ Hunter looks me up and down once more, as if he’s storing away another twenty nicknames for lunchtime, then he walks into Doris.

  I don’t mean he walks into a person called Doris. Doris is the name of the administration building, in honour of the founder of our school Doris Leadmeir. The primary building is Arnold, named after Doris’s husband, who designed the school layout. Doris and Arnold, the people, are both long dead, but the buildings live on. The other buildings are: Edith, the kindergarten building (Edith Bricknell was the first kindy teacher); Lillian, the high school building (Lillian Roche was the woman who donated land for the school to be built on); and finally, Walter, the toilet block (Walter C Cuthbert was the first school janitor).

  The teachers tell us to use the names of the buildings, to remember the founders. The school doesn’t have a principal. Each year, one of the staff is elected by their fellow teachers as the team coordinator. This year it’s Larry Ames. Teachers must be addressed by their first name. Larry, never Mr Ames.

  And here he is now. Larry walks up the path, wearing three-quarter length bushwalking pants and a ‘Greenpeace’ t-shirt. He’s also wearing sandals, which, strictly speaking, students are discouraged from wearing. Because of snakes. Larry isn’t scared.

  He stands in front of the sign, takes off his floppy hat and bangs it against his knee, as if a nest of spiders is hiding under the brim.

  ‘Hi, Larry.’

  ‘G’day, Jesse.’ He nods at the sign. ‘That’s my slogan. Pretty good, hey?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer as he heads off to the high school. Sorry, I mean Lillian.

  Suddenly, dance music blares over the PA system, which means it’s time to go to class. Each month, a different class gets to choose the music. This month it’s year four. Next month it’s year nine, so I’m hoping for a serious headbanging metal attack. I’m not sure how Larry will respond. He may write a ‘Thought for the Day’ to counteract all the harsh vibes the music will give out.

  ‘Hi, Jesse,’ says Kate, a girl in my class with curly black hair and braces.

  ‘Hi, Kate. Thanks for not calling me Emo.’

  Kate looks around quickly for Hunter before leaning close and whispering, ‘Hunter is a turnip.’ Kate adds, ‘Did you do your personal assessment tasks?’

  That’s what we’re supposed to call homework.

  ‘Yep. I read a book on the bell frog and drew a picture of it. What was your topic?’

  ‘Whales.’ Kate winks. ‘I’ve taken a slightly different approach.’ She leads me into our classroom in Arnold and we take our seats near the front. The rest of the class are already seated, except Hunter. He’s sitting on the window ledge. He makes a gloomy sound at the back of his throat when I walk in, like the theme music to a horror movie.

  He’s about to say something when Sarah, our teacher, walks in.

  ‘Good morning, Class 6S,’ she says.

  ‘Good morning, Sarah,’ we respond together, except Hunter. He times his greeting to be half-a-second behind, like an echo.

  Sarah flashes him a tired look and he slowly sits down on his chair. She stands in front of the class and says, ‘Okay. Let’s have a selection of readings from your personal assessment tasks.’

  I raise my hand.

  ‘Yes, Jesse.’

  ‘I didn’t write anything, Ms, I mean Sarah. I just drew something.’

  Sarah smiles. ‘No worries. We’ll have a selection of readings and displays of your tasks. Who wants to start?’

  Everyone raises their hands, except Hunter and me.

  ‘Anastasia first,’ says Sarah. She walks to the side window and leans against the ledge, facing into the room. She smiles at Anastasia, who stands and picks up her glasses from her desk. She puts them on before reading her story. Her voice is distant and rhythmic, like the sound of a train going over a bridge.

  Anastasia’s story is about a girl finding an injured marsupial bilby in the bush and nursing it back to health. In the story, the main character is called Anastasia and she learns how to communicate with the bilby. They live together in the forest and eat mushrooms and mangoes. One day while foraging for food, they meet a handsome young man called Justin B.

  Anastasia blushes, before continuing with the story.

  Justin B is a reclusive pop star who’s made his home in the forest to escape the thousands of young girls who scream outside his Malibu apartment. Together, Anastasia and Justin B write a song called ‘One less lonely bilby’.

  When Anastasia finishes her story, everyone applauds, except Hunter who coughs loudly.

  Sarah looks up. ‘Are you all right, Hunter?’

  Hunter grins. ‘I think I need to go to Walter.’

  Sarah nods and Hunter walks out of the room, singing, ‘I’m off to Walter, Walter the toilet block’.

  ‘That’s enough, Hunter,’ Sarah calls after him.

  ‘No worries, Sarah.’

  He’s left the door open. Without thinking, I get up to close it.

  ‘Thanks, Jesse.’

  ‘That’s okay, Sarah. Can I lock it as well?’ The class giggles, but Sarah smiles and says, ‘We’re inclusive, remember Jesse?’

  ‘Would you like to go next, Kate?’ asks Sarah.

  Kate stands and confidently walks to the front of the room. She looks at everyone in the class, smiling at me, and in a loud voice, begins, ‘My story is about whales’.

  ‘Ooh, they’re so beautiful,’ says Skye, from the second row.

  Kate ignores her. ‘Whales are mammals that live in the ocean. They range in size from the giant blue whale to the much smaller pygmy sperm whale.’ Kate looks up at Sarah. Sarah nods.

  Kate continues, ‘The common minke whale is the main species hunted and killed by Japanese and Norwegian whalers. Hundreds are slaughtered every year.’

  ‘SARAH!’ yells Skye.

  ‘Whale meat is high in protein and is lower in calories than beef and pork. It also has a much higher iron content and is rich in—’

  ‘Kate?’ Sarah’s voice is quiet.

  Kate stops reading and looks at the teacher.

  Skye starts sobbing, although I suspect she’s just pretending.

  ‘I thought the personal assessment task I designed,’ Sarah says, ‘was for us to appreciate the gift of nature. You appear to be talking about eating a—’

  ‘Beautiful animal!’ Skye interrupts.

  Sarah takes a deep breath. ‘Skye. Remember our guidelines about calling out in class.’

  ‘But she’s eating whales,’ Skye responds.

  ‘Not in class she’s not.’ Sarah shifts her focus to Kate. ‘May I ask why you chose this topic, Kate?’

  At this very moment, Hunter walks in and strolls past Kate.

  ‘Some animals—’ Kate starts.

  ‘Who you calling an animal?’ Hunter turns and interrupts.

  ‘We were talking about whales,’ says Sarah, waiting a few crucial seconds before adding, ‘not you.’

  The class laughs.

  Hunter scowls at us all, trying to pick who he’ll pay back at lunchtime. I almost burst a lung holding my breath to stop giggling. But his eyes settle on me.

  ‘I love whales,’ Kate looks meaningfully at Skye, ‘but they’re eaten by native communities in Norway and Canada.’

 
; ‘And the Japanese?’ Sarah asks.

  Kate smiles. ‘Actually, Sarah, whale meat is eaten in Japanese schools.’

  The class shudders as one. Our canteen, housed at the back of Lillian, serves only vegetarian food. Monday’s speciality is tofu burgers.

  ‘You haven’t really answered my question, Kate,’ continues Sarah, her voice taking on some of the Skye-anguish. ‘Why did you choose this topic?’

  ‘Animals are eaten, whether we like it or not.’ Kate looks toward the class for support. Everyone looks away except me. ‘Even beautiful animals like whales and fur seals.’

  This is too much for Skye. She scrapes back her chair and runs out of the room, doing a Hunter and leaving the door open; open and gaping like a wound in a minke whale caused by a harpoon.

  Kate continues, as if she’s read my mind. ‘The traditional native hunters use harpoons—’

  ‘Okay, that’s enough.’ Sarah walks quickly toward Kate. ‘Kate, I appreciate your alternative view of the beauty and gift of nature, but perhaps I’ll read your personal assessment task alone at lunchtime.’

  ‘Make sure you’ve eaten first, Sarah,’ suggests Hunter.

  Sarah ignores him, takes the paper from Kate and ushers her back to her seat. She asks Eoin to stand and read to the class.

  Eoin stands on his chair.

  Everyone laughs. He looks around the room, smiling.

  ‘Why are you standing on your chair, Eoin?’ asks Sarah.

  ‘My dad says soundwaves carry further if they aren’t interrupted by stuff.’

  ‘Thank you for the physics lesson, Eoin. Your dad is correct, but let’s just stand on the floor, shall we?’ Sarah looks sternly at Lance in the back row, who is still giggling. Lance coughs once and falls silent.

  ‘You may begin, Eoin,’ says Sarah.

  ‘My story is about a boy called Eoin who lives with the chimpanzees of Africa. Eoin learns to talk to the chimps and they swing from tree to tree in the jungle. Eoin builds a treehouse high in the forest …’

  And so it goes until lunchtime. The gift of nature.

  And then tofu burgers.

  4

  HUNTER

  It’s lunchtime and Hunter is in the boys toilet block, again. He looks into the mirror and smiles.

  ‘Walter,’ he says to himself. ‘What a stupid name.’

  A year two boy walks in. He looks at Hunter and says, ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Think of a name,’ Hunter says.

  The boy looks behind him, not sure if Hunter is talking to him.

  ‘A name. Any name,’ repeats Hunter.

  ‘Samuel,’ the boy says.

  ‘That’s your name, isn’t it?’

  The boy nods.

  ‘Okay, Mr Original, think of another name.’

  Samuel shuffles from one foot to the other. He needs to go to the toilet. ‘Ralph,’ he says.

  ‘Your dog’s name, right?’ says Hunter.

  Samuel can’t hold on much longer. He nods and takes a step toward the cubicle.

  ‘One more name,’ says Hunter.

  Samuel feels his bottom lip wobbling. He looks at his shoes and notices one lace is untied. He mumbles, ‘Hunter.’

  ‘You want to name the toilet block after me?’ Hunter grins.

  ‘No! I didn’t mean … Pete!’ Samuel suggests.

  Hunter laughs. ‘Pete, the place to pee!’

  Samuel walks toward the cubicle.

  ‘The toilet’s broken,’ Hunter says.

  Samuel’s face goes red. He can’t hold on. He bites his top lip and tries to think of something other than his overriding need to pee.

  ‘You can use the girls toilet,’ Hunter says.

  Samuel takes a step backward, then stops and says, ‘But … but what if there’s a girl?’

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Hunter says. Samuel rushes out of Walter. Hunter can hear his hurried footsteps, next door in the girls toilet. Then over the partition, ‘I only want to wee!’

  Hunter smiles. He looks at his reflection and rubs his hand through his hair. Time for a new haircut.

  He checks his watch. Ten minutes before lunch finishes. He thinks back to the class discussion on whales and wonders if Kate was making a joke about him. What was she saying while he was at Walter?

  The only way to find out is to ask Jesse. That new kid can’t tell a lie. Hunter will force it out of him, if he has to.

  Hunter ambles around the schoolyard, on the lookout for Jesse. He’s probably playing with some of the younger kids, Hunter imagines. Such a sonk.

  ‘Hunter,’ an adult voice comes from behind.

  Hunter keeps walking.

  ‘Hunter!’ The voice is more demanding.

  Hunter turns around.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me the first time, Hunter?’ says Larry.

  Hunter shrugs.

  ‘Well, that’s not the issue,’ says Larry. A group of year nine girls walk between the two of them. Larry motions to the bench seat, under the pine trees. Hunter follows, reluctantly. Larry sits down. Hunter remains standing.

  ‘I’ve had a complaint,’ says Larry. ‘From a … well, it doesn’t matter who it’s from. There’s a rumour that Walter is defective.’ Larry looks toward the kindy kids playing on the climbing equipment. ‘Do you know where this could have started, Hunter?’

  ‘Yep, Larry. It was me,’ Hunter admits.

  Larry had been expecting denials. ‘This is very serious, Hunter.’

  ‘I know, Larry.’

  Larry scratches his beard. ‘The young boy in question, could have had an unfortunate … accident. If you get my meaning.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ says Hunter.

  ‘I must say, Hunter, I didn’t expect you to admit to such behaviour,’ says Larry.

  ‘I’m proud to, Larry.’

  ‘Proud!’

  ‘You bet. Just imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped the boy from using the toilet.’

  Larry looks aghast. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The toilet, Larry. It was broken. I saved the boy from getting soaked.’

  ‘That’s … that’s not what I understood.’ Larry stares at Hunter. ‘I’ve just come from Walter, Hunter. All the toilets appear to be working fine.’

  ‘I know, Larry. After I stopped the boy, Samuel I think his name was, I spent five minutes jiggling with the toilet, fixing it.’

  ‘Well … how am I,’ Larry stammers.

  ‘Don’t worry, Larry. It’s free. I wouldn’t dream of charging the school. I’m just glad Samuel let you know of the incident.’

  Music starts. Disco Inferno. There are a few minutes until the end of lunchtime. Larry doesn’t move. Hunter elaborately checks his watch. ‘I’d better go, Larry. I want to borrow a library book.’

  Larry nods and watches Hunter stride away.

  Hunter can barely contain his laughter.

  5

  jesse

  I’m scrunched down as low as possible on a beanbag in the library, the smallest room in Edith. I’m holding the largest book I can find to offer myself the most camouflage. Hunter is probably on the warpath and in his sights are not whales, fur seals, bilbies or chimpanzees.

  I almost burst my lungs trying not to laugh in class and look where it’s got me. Luckily, the words ‘library’ and ‘Hunter’ rarely mix, so I snuggle down and contemplate the nutritional value of whales. Yep, Kate did nothing but repeat the information that can be found in our own library. If Sue, the librarian, only knew what was on her shelves.

  Whale meat is low in cholesterol. I wonder if I should tell Dad. The only animals we eat at home are fish and free-range chicken. At least once a week, over dinner, Dad says, ‘We steer clear of red meat in this house’. Then he waits for us all to laugh at the pun. No-one does.

  ‘Get it, steer.’ He chomps on his wild Atlantic salmon, satisfied he’s fulfilled his father-humour quota for the week. Sometimes, Mum joins in. ‘No bull, dear,’ she titters. If we were a normal family, we’d be eating dinner
in front of the television, so Beth and I could concentrate on Home and Away and ignore this comedy double bill.

  ‘Good one, Faith,’ says Dad. ‘There’s no kowtowing in this house.’

  This is obviously nonsensical, but it brings a huge laugh from Dad. He’s on a roll now. He looks across the table at me. ‘You don’t have a beef with our humour do you, son?’

  Luckily my mouth is too full of wild Atlantic salmon to answer.

  ‘May I be excused?’ asks Beth.

  ‘You want to be alone, Beth,’ he says, ‘to stew in your own juices!’ Dad almost falls off the chair, he’s laughing so much. Beth looks at me and rolls her eyes.

  ‘Anthony, stop ribbing our daughter,’ adds Mum.

  What on earth has possessed these people? Is the salmon contaminated with mercury causing immediate brain damage? Mum reaches across the table and pats Beth’s wrist. ‘Sorry, Beth. You can go as soon as you’ve finished eating.’

  Beth scoffs her food at a furious rate and takes her plate across to the sink.

  A shadow passes over the beanbag.

  ‘You seem engrossed in that book, Jesse James Jones,’ says Sue, the librarian.

  I nod.

  Sue sits in the opposite beanbag. She takes off her glasses and cleans them on her ‘Books before Bombs’ t-shirt. She’s wearing loose-fitting trousers, with a wide belt that has a Harry Potter buckle, the slash mark on his face prominent.

  ‘What’s it about?’ she asks.

  ‘Animals,’ I answer.

  ‘Don’t tell me about animals,’ she laughs.

  Have you ever noticed when someone says, ‘Don’t tell me about’, it means they’re going to give you a twenty-minute lecture on what they just told you not to tell them about?

  ‘We’ve got a veritable zoo at home. Cats, dogs, budgies, sheep, a pig called—’

  ‘Babe?’ I interrupt.

  ‘How did you guess, Jesse? And cows, lots of chickens, even a few geese and ducks,’ Sue says.

  As she’s talking, I flip through the pages to D for duck. Yep, duck is the national dish of France. She really should take care with the books on display.