Paws, page 2
“Like cleaning the house and driving us to school?”
“And cleaning other people’s houses and doing all the things because Dad’s away.”
I tap the arrow keys on my keyboard and move my robot up the ladder, hopping from side to side, and then switch to first person so I can see the beams clearly. When I first played Map 5, I fell off here a few times, landing in the lava at the bottom of the tunnel, but my friend hillieshillies66 from India told me to go first person as it’s easier to do. He was right. Ned says hillieshillies66 might be a girl so I shouldn’t presume he’s a boy, and that I shouldn’t be making online friends with people I don’t know. I’m not sure why; it’s not like they’re real friends.
“So you had a good day at school then?”
“Yep,” I answer, as my robot somersaults off the beams and onto the sliding platforms.
“Did you play with anyone?”
“No.”
“Talk to anyone?”
“Jared.”
“The rugby boy?”
I press the down and side arrows at the same time and my robot ducks and crawls under the fallen beams and then leaps over the next, then crawls and then leaps. I like this bit of Map 5 the best.
“Jared plays rugby, right?”
“At school and for a club, too. And he’s the fastest boy in school and he’s in my relay team.”
“That’s great. So is he your friend?” I feel more pressure on my skin where Mum’s touching me, so I shake my leg until she moves her hand.
“No. He doesn’t want to play with me but we run in the same group in PE so he might be my friend if I can run faster and we make districts, or if I complete this map or if I win a trophy at PAWS.”
My tummy swishes when I say my plan out loud.
“But he’s still nice to you, isn’t he?”
I haven’t seen Jared online yet, but when I do I’m going to message him and finish telling him properly about how far I got in Map 5. He might tell me how to complete it.
Mum is still talking about people at school being nice to me, but then Kevin sneezes and jolts my arm and I hit the wrong arrow. My robot topples off the ladder and splashes into the orange lava, grey smoke puffing above it, and the word FAILED flashes across the screen.
“Agh, Kevin!” I yell, and stare at him. His big brown eyes stare back into mine through tufts of curly white fur, then he shoves his head forwards and licks my face again, tail wagging.
“He’s just a dog, Alex, he doesn’t mean it,” Mum says, and she stands, the bed springing back up with a pop. “And besides, dinner will be ready in five minutes so you have to get off now anyway.”
“Seriously?” I turn and watch her exit my bedroom, leaving the door open. Kevin doesn’t follow her, just keeps licking my face.
“Yes, so switch that off now. You’ve been on it for over an hour.” Mum’s voice disappears down the hallway.
“I seriously can’t believe this.” I sit up on my bed and grab my pug pillow, squishing it tight to my chest. My eyes slide back to the flashing FAILED and I screw up my face. “I wanted to complete Map 5 today. Now Jared definitely won’t want to be my friend tomorrow.”
Kevin lies across my lap, head resting on my thigh. I pat his head, his curls bouncing back up each time, and his tail wags slowly from side to side.
“Are you ready for PAWS on Saturday, Kevin?” His brown eyes rise to meet mine, and he huffs. “We need to win a trophy. Jared has medals and trophies from playing rugby, and Ella B from dancing, and Cynthia S from breakdancing – they showed them to the class on Superstar Friday – and they all have lots of friends.”
Kevin moves his head and looks over towards my desk, which is covered in dog figures and framed photos and 3D crystal dog puzzles. My underwater puppy calendar hangs on the wall above it, surrounded by sketches of Kevin and Dennis. Light, distant voices and the high-pitched squeaks of lorikeets stream in through the window along with a breeze, which flaps the calendar pages slightly.
I can see the four black permanent marker circles I made around 12 November.
The day PAWS comes to Jessops Lake.
I bury my hand in Kevin’s thick fur and look from 12 November to the word FAILED, still flashing on my computer screen.
I can’t do Map 5, so if my legs don’t get faster, a trophy is my last chance.
I swipe another piece of buttered bread from the bowl and smear it through the delicious lasagne on my plate. I love lasagne. I love all soft food. Hard and crunchy foods make too much noise inside my head, so Mum doesn’t give them to me any more. Kevin sits between me and Mum, and his snout nudges the side of my leg, so I pat his head. He wants food but I’m not allowed to feed him at the table, even though I always see Ned throwing bits of food under the table to Dennis.
I glance over as Ned’s voice rises. He’s hunched over his plate, still wearing his white school shirt, but not the tie. I notice a blob of red on the front of his shirt. Lasagne. I want to say it aloud, point to it, tell them both that it’s there. I open my mouth to speak but Mum speaks instead, and I stop my words because everyone is rude to me when I interrupt conversations.
“I won’t be able to come and pick you up, Ned, so no, you can’t go.” Mum sips from her sweating glass of lemonade and wipes her damp forehead with the back of her hand, even though the ceiling fan is spinning above us.
“So I don’t get to go. Brilliant,” Ned says, his face frowny and angry.
“Ned, please.”
“No, it’s not fair.”
“We all have to make sacrifices while Dad’s away.”
“Dad could get a job nearer. He doesn’t have to work away in the mines.”
“Yes, he does!”
I jolt, Mum’s raised voice exploding through my ears and into my brain. My heart thuds, and sweat springs from all my pores. I grip the edge of the table tightly. Kevin stands on his back legs and puts his front paws on my thigh, snuffling into my arm.
“Mum, why did you shout so rudely?” I whisper, sitting back against the wooden slats of my chair. “It made me jump.”
Mum sighs and wrinkles her brow at me. “Sorry sweetie,” she says, her voice gentler this time. She pats my hand. I loosen my grip on the table, my muscles relaxing, and then look over at Ned. He stares down at his plate and swirls the last forkful of lasagne around it, like he’s sweeping the patio in the back garden. His cheeks are red.
“Ned, you know Dad isn’t away forever, and I’m sorry it means you miss out on going out with your friends after school. I am giving up a lot at the moment too. I’d like to have some friend-time myself right now, you know.” Mum presses a finger into her forehead and then picks up her knife and fork. She sighs again. I think that might be the tenth one today but I haven’t been counting, so I’m not sure. “Are you angry because the new girl is going?” she adds.
Ned growls, making a mean face at Mum, then shoves the final bite of lasagne into his mouth. He stands with a huff, dumps his plate on the kitchen counter, and stomps out the room.
“Who’s the new girl?” I ask.
“And you can shut up too!” Ned yells over his shoulder.
I watch until he disappears around the corner and clench my fists until I hear his bedroom door slam, followed by the sound of a rapper’s voice and loud drumbeats.
“Guess we said the wrong things.” Mum sends a close-lipped smile my way.
“Can I take Kevin out into the garden again?” I ask, tearing the last piece of bread from the crust and cramming it into my mouth.
Mum smiles properly now. “What do you say?”
“Pees,” I force out through the bread.
Mum grimaces, but then nods. “Okay, but stay off the road, and come in before it gets dark.”
I nod and stand, grab my plate and place it on the counter next to Ned’s. Once I’ve swallowed the bread, I click my fingers twice at Kevin, who trots beside me over to the bookshelf by the dining table.
“Is the book here?” I ask.
“Which one?”
“The one you told me about?”
Mum sighs. “I don’t remember that conversation.”
I grit my teeth. “The golden retriever book that you told me about. Why don’t you remember?”
Plates clatter and clink as Mum stacks them on top of one another. “Don’t be rude to me, please. But yep, third shelf down on the right. Please be careful with it, it’s very old.”
I didn’t think I was rude to her.
I search where she says . . . third shelf . . . on the right . . . I hold up my hands to remember which is my right, and then I see the book and pull it out from between the others.
How to Look After Your Goldies
The edges of the cover are folding outwards and a bit cracked, and the pages look more yellow than normal books. It must be old, because Mum said it was Grandad’s when he was a boy and had a golden retriever. The dog on the front cover is so cute, the way it sits on the grass, a ball and a bone by its front paws. All its golden fur is brushed and looks so soft, and its black nose is raised in the air. Its pink collar has paw prints patterned all over it. “Aww,” I say and crouch beside Kevin, pointing to the book. “Look how cute she is.” Kevin looks, shoves his nose into the picture, and makes a snorting sound.
“Ew,” I say to Kevin and stroke his head. “But not as cute as you.”
I rest my head against his and pull him into my body. “Come on, Kevin, let’s go learn some new stuff for the dog show.”
A stronger breeze, more of a wind, blows into the garden, and I breathe it in. I can always smell the ocean at this time of day. It’s only a couple of minutes away by car, but we don’t go often because even though I love playing in the waves and all the space, I don’t like the sand.
It gets everywhere.
The palm fronds rustle high above me and birds flutter from tree to tree. I peer up at the sky, at the patches of blue among the white and grey clouds, and wonder if rain is coming.
Kevin whines and I look back at him and say, “Sit!” He stands five steps away, waiting. I lift my index finger, the dog treat concealed behind my other fingers, and then point down at him. He sits and I cheer, and then he gallops over and jumps up, paws scratching at my top.
“No.” I push him down. “No, you have to stay sitting.” Kevin sits by my feet, and a gust of wind raises his floppy ears and flaps my dark blue Dogs Are Cool T-shirt. “We’ll have to try again.”
I walk backwards, five steps, smaller this time because I’m right near the edge of the driveway now and Mum told me not to go onto the road. I repeat the pointing action. “Sit!” But Kevin isn’t looking at me any more. His ears have rolled forwards and his head is up, tilting. I hear a car engine behind me, and turn to see a shiny blue Volkswagen round the corner.
“Come on, Kevin,” I say, hooking a finger into his collar and scooting back up the driveway to the front door. I squat beside him, my eyes wide.
Cantering Court, where I live, is small, only nine houses, all single level, and it’s quiet, because it’s a cul-de-sac. I know Phil at number eight next door; Sean and Jo at number six on the other side; Owen and his wife at number five; and Tanson, who is Ned’s age but they’re not friends, and his family at number four. I don’t know the names of the people in numbers one, two or three, but there are old people with two cats, more old people with no pets, and another family who we never see. I also know everyone’s cars.
This blue Volkswagen is not a car I’ve seen before. I like the colour of it.
It stops beside number nine, its wheels scraping against the kerb, and the engine shuts down, a faint ticking coming from the front. I wait, my arm draped over Kevin’s back and my hand hugging underneath his tummy. I’m still holding his blue collar in my other hand, my fingers buried in his soft fur. As I wait, focused on the car, I hear faint shouts and laughter from somewhere to my left, probably the loud family at the back of our house who had an argument with Dad once because they were cutting down trees without letting him know. I hear a siren, maybe a police car in the distance, and I smell food cooking, which I think might be a barbecue. I hear Ned’s rap music drifting from his room at the back of the house, through the hallway, and out the front screen door to my ears.
And then I hear a pop and creak, and someone steps out of the blue Volkswagen. Another door opens, and then another. I see a girl first, as tall as Ned, with white blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and then a woman wearing sunglasses who has the same colour hair, but hers is cut short. The other person is mostly hidden behind the car, but then they move, towards the driveway of number nine.
It’s a smaller person, also with light hair, and wearing a Jessops Lake Primary School uniform. I dip my head, feel Kevin’s fur against my cheek, and then the person turns, peering up and down my small quiet street.
It’s the new kid from school, in grade 6 – a boy, I think – the one who sits on his own. His eyes reach me, and he raises a hand and waves. I know I should wave back, but instead I cling tighter to Kevin and watch the new kid, waiting for him to stop waving and looking at me.
His arm lowers and he turns, heading inside. His sister places a hand on his shoulder as their mum opens and then closes the black front door, shutting them all inside.
The new renters are here.
I wonder if the boy plays OrbsWorld.
I adjust each of my pencils until they’re all perfectly lined up against my ruler and the darkest, deepest scratch in the wooden desktop. They’re like a rainbow, from black all the way to yellow, and it’s beautiful. I don’t have a white pencil. I will have to ask Ned if he has one he can give me after school. I won’t use any of these colours other than black and grey, and maybe blue, because that’s my favourite colour, but I still get them all out of my pencil case at the start of lessons.
Aqua is my favourite blue.
Ryan says I only like blue because Jared likes blue, but I don’t think that’s true because I’ve always liked blue. I wonder if the new kid with white hair likes blue.
A hand comes into my vision and taps my desk. I look up. It’s Angel, who sits next to me. She smiles at me, strands of her jet-black hair strung across her cheeks, and whispers, “Ms Westing has called you for reading group.” I stare at Angel’s teeth and her pink lips, which look slippery because of all the lip balm she puts on, until the words make sense in my head, and then I glance around the room. Ms Westing is smiling and beckoning me to come to the Big B, which is a small area with beanbags and bookshelves at the back of our classroom.
I sigh and lower my chin and stare at my hands, which are squeezing my ruler. I don’t want to do reading group. I want to finish my road map of Jessops Lake, like Jared and all the other kids in my class are doing. Angel taps my desk again, and I move my eyes to the side until I see her map on her desk. It’s the most awesome coolest map out of anyone’s in the whole class, because Angel is the best at art.
“I’ll make sure no one moves your pencils,” she says in a quiet voice.
Angel is nice to me. And she says I do brilliant art too.
I nod, then release my grip on my ruler and move my chair back silently. The other children chatter in quiet voices that make a low hum around the room as they work on their maps. As I weave through their chairs to the Big B, I see Ella’s map, which is covered in red and gold, her favourite colours. Next to her is Jared’s, all in pencil with sketches of balls and rugby players all over it. I don’t think that’s what he’s meant to do, and I want to tell him, but I want more to turn back to my table, to Angel. But Ms Westing says my name.
“Alex, we saved you the blue beanbag. Have a seat.”
I do as she says because I’m a good boy and I always do as I’m told. I love the blue beanbag, and it shifts and moulds into my butt and back as I sit. Ms Westing hands me a piece of paper, folded in half, with a photo of a pizza on the front. I love pizza, but not the crusts, because they’re too hard. I start to open the booklet.
“Oops, don’t open it yet, Alex.”
I glance up at her and she waggles her eyebrows up and down. I don’t know what this means – it’s not on my emoji chart at home.
“Right, we’re all going to do silent reading in our minds first and then we’re going to talk about what we’ve read. If you get stuck on any words, save them and we can talk about them at the end.”
I turn my head to see the other four kids sitting around Ms Westing: Chris, James, Joshua and Matilda. I don’t like sitting next to Matilda because she’s loud. We do reading group together four days of every week – not Fridays – because we’re all bad at reading. But Ms Westing says we mustn’t say that because how good you are at something isn’t important, but how much fun you have doing it is. I don’t know if that’s right, because being good at OrbsWorld is important and running fast is important too because it means our team might make districts. And winning a trophy at PAWS on Saturday is important and to do that I need to have a dog that’s good at things.
“Off you go then, Big Bees, open your booklets.”
She always calls anyone who goes into the Big B “Big Bees”.
I turn the page, finally, and take a look at the words.
Best Pizza Recipe Ever
I read beneath the title. There’s a list of ingredients, and underneath that a method. Once I get to the bottom of the ingredients list, which has salami and pepperoni in it, my eyes don’t see the words any more. I hear the sounds of pencils scribbling on paper behind me and someone coughing and a chair scraping against the floor and Matilda breathing beside me and James scratching his skin. My chest feels a bit funny, and I bite my back teeth together, but I keep staring at the booklet and at the lines of words. The words salami and pepperoni draw my eyes back up the page, but I’m supposed to read everything. I can see the others still reading out of the corner of my eye.
And then they’re not reading any more. They’ve all stopped and are looking at me.
“How are you getting on, Alex?” Ms Westing asks.
I nod and close my booklet. “I’m finished,” I say, and rest the booklet on my bent knees.
“And cleaning other people’s houses and doing all the things because Dad’s away.”
I tap the arrow keys on my keyboard and move my robot up the ladder, hopping from side to side, and then switch to first person so I can see the beams clearly. When I first played Map 5, I fell off here a few times, landing in the lava at the bottom of the tunnel, but my friend hillieshillies66 from India told me to go first person as it’s easier to do. He was right. Ned says hillieshillies66 might be a girl so I shouldn’t presume he’s a boy, and that I shouldn’t be making online friends with people I don’t know. I’m not sure why; it’s not like they’re real friends.
“So you had a good day at school then?”
“Yep,” I answer, as my robot somersaults off the beams and onto the sliding platforms.
“Did you play with anyone?”
“No.”
“Talk to anyone?”
“Jared.”
“The rugby boy?”
I press the down and side arrows at the same time and my robot ducks and crawls under the fallen beams and then leaps over the next, then crawls and then leaps. I like this bit of Map 5 the best.
“Jared plays rugby, right?”
“At school and for a club, too. And he’s the fastest boy in school and he’s in my relay team.”
“That’s great. So is he your friend?” I feel more pressure on my skin where Mum’s touching me, so I shake my leg until she moves her hand.
“No. He doesn’t want to play with me but we run in the same group in PE so he might be my friend if I can run faster and we make districts, or if I complete this map or if I win a trophy at PAWS.”
My tummy swishes when I say my plan out loud.
“But he’s still nice to you, isn’t he?”
I haven’t seen Jared online yet, but when I do I’m going to message him and finish telling him properly about how far I got in Map 5. He might tell me how to complete it.
Mum is still talking about people at school being nice to me, but then Kevin sneezes and jolts my arm and I hit the wrong arrow. My robot topples off the ladder and splashes into the orange lava, grey smoke puffing above it, and the word FAILED flashes across the screen.
“Agh, Kevin!” I yell, and stare at him. His big brown eyes stare back into mine through tufts of curly white fur, then he shoves his head forwards and licks my face again, tail wagging.
“He’s just a dog, Alex, he doesn’t mean it,” Mum says, and she stands, the bed springing back up with a pop. “And besides, dinner will be ready in five minutes so you have to get off now anyway.”
“Seriously?” I turn and watch her exit my bedroom, leaving the door open. Kevin doesn’t follow her, just keeps licking my face.
“Yes, so switch that off now. You’ve been on it for over an hour.” Mum’s voice disappears down the hallway.
“I seriously can’t believe this.” I sit up on my bed and grab my pug pillow, squishing it tight to my chest. My eyes slide back to the flashing FAILED and I screw up my face. “I wanted to complete Map 5 today. Now Jared definitely won’t want to be my friend tomorrow.”
Kevin lies across my lap, head resting on my thigh. I pat his head, his curls bouncing back up each time, and his tail wags slowly from side to side.
“Are you ready for PAWS on Saturday, Kevin?” His brown eyes rise to meet mine, and he huffs. “We need to win a trophy. Jared has medals and trophies from playing rugby, and Ella B from dancing, and Cynthia S from breakdancing – they showed them to the class on Superstar Friday – and they all have lots of friends.”
Kevin moves his head and looks over towards my desk, which is covered in dog figures and framed photos and 3D crystal dog puzzles. My underwater puppy calendar hangs on the wall above it, surrounded by sketches of Kevin and Dennis. Light, distant voices and the high-pitched squeaks of lorikeets stream in through the window along with a breeze, which flaps the calendar pages slightly.
I can see the four black permanent marker circles I made around 12 November.
The day PAWS comes to Jessops Lake.
I bury my hand in Kevin’s thick fur and look from 12 November to the word FAILED, still flashing on my computer screen.
I can’t do Map 5, so if my legs don’t get faster, a trophy is my last chance.
I swipe another piece of buttered bread from the bowl and smear it through the delicious lasagne on my plate. I love lasagne. I love all soft food. Hard and crunchy foods make too much noise inside my head, so Mum doesn’t give them to me any more. Kevin sits between me and Mum, and his snout nudges the side of my leg, so I pat his head. He wants food but I’m not allowed to feed him at the table, even though I always see Ned throwing bits of food under the table to Dennis.
I glance over as Ned’s voice rises. He’s hunched over his plate, still wearing his white school shirt, but not the tie. I notice a blob of red on the front of his shirt. Lasagne. I want to say it aloud, point to it, tell them both that it’s there. I open my mouth to speak but Mum speaks instead, and I stop my words because everyone is rude to me when I interrupt conversations.
“I won’t be able to come and pick you up, Ned, so no, you can’t go.” Mum sips from her sweating glass of lemonade and wipes her damp forehead with the back of her hand, even though the ceiling fan is spinning above us.
“So I don’t get to go. Brilliant,” Ned says, his face frowny and angry.
“Ned, please.”
“No, it’s not fair.”
“We all have to make sacrifices while Dad’s away.”
“Dad could get a job nearer. He doesn’t have to work away in the mines.”
“Yes, he does!”
I jolt, Mum’s raised voice exploding through my ears and into my brain. My heart thuds, and sweat springs from all my pores. I grip the edge of the table tightly. Kevin stands on his back legs and puts his front paws on my thigh, snuffling into my arm.
“Mum, why did you shout so rudely?” I whisper, sitting back against the wooden slats of my chair. “It made me jump.”
Mum sighs and wrinkles her brow at me. “Sorry sweetie,” she says, her voice gentler this time. She pats my hand. I loosen my grip on the table, my muscles relaxing, and then look over at Ned. He stares down at his plate and swirls the last forkful of lasagne around it, like he’s sweeping the patio in the back garden. His cheeks are red.
“Ned, you know Dad isn’t away forever, and I’m sorry it means you miss out on going out with your friends after school. I am giving up a lot at the moment too. I’d like to have some friend-time myself right now, you know.” Mum presses a finger into her forehead and then picks up her knife and fork. She sighs again. I think that might be the tenth one today but I haven’t been counting, so I’m not sure. “Are you angry because the new girl is going?” she adds.
Ned growls, making a mean face at Mum, then shoves the final bite of lasagne into his mouth. He stands with a huff, dumps his plate on the kitchen counter, and stomps out the room.
“Who’s the new girl?” I ask.
“And you can shut up too!” Ned yells over his shoulder.
I watch until he disappears around the corner and clench my fists until I hear his bedroom door slam, followed by the sound of a rapper’s voice and loud drumbeats.
“Guess we said the wrong things.” Mum sends a close-lipped smile my way.
“Can I take Kevin out into the garden again?” I ask, tearing the last piece of bread from the crust and cramming it into my mouth.
Mum smiles properly now. “What do you say?”
“Pees,” I force out through the bread.
Mum grimaces, but then nods. “Okay, but stay off the road, and come in before it gets dark.”
I nod and stand, grab my plate and place it on the counter next to Ned’s. Once I’ve swallowed the bread, I click my fingers twice at Kevin, who trots beside me over to the bookshelf by the dining table.
“Is the book here?” I ask.
“Which one?”
“The one you told me about?”
Mum sighs. “I don’t remember that conversation.”
I grit my teeth. “The golden retriever book that you told me about. Why don’t you remember?”
Plates clatter and clink as Mum stacks them on top of one another. “Don’t be rude to me, please. But yep, third shelf down on the right. Please be careful with it, it’s very old.”
I didn’t think I was rude to her.
I search where she says . . . third shelf . . . on the right . . . I hold up my hands to remember which is my right, and then I see the book and pull it out from between the others.
How to Look After Your Goldies
The edges of the cover are folding outwards and a bit cracked, and the pages look more yellow than normal books. It must be old, because Mum said it was Grandad’s when he was a boy and had a golden retriever. The dog on the front cover is so cute, the way it sits on the grass, a ball and a bone by its front paws. All its golden fur is brushed and looks so soft, and its black nose is raised in the air. Its pink collar has paw prints patterned all over it. “Aww,” I say and crouch beside Kevin, pointing to the book. “Look how cute she is.” Kevin looks, shoves his nose into the picture, and makes a snorting sound.
“Ew,” I say to Kevin and stroke his head. “But not as cute as you.”
I rest my head against his and pull him into my body. “Come on, Kevin, let’s go learn some new stuff for the dog show.”
A stronger breeze, more of a wind, blows into the garden, and I breathe it in. I can always smell the ocean at this time of day. It’s only a couple of minutes away by car, but we don’t go often because even though I love playing in the waves and all the space, I don’t like the sand.
It gets everywhere.
The palm fronds rustle high above me and birds flutter from tree to tree. I peer up at the sky, at the patches of blue among the white and grey clouds, and wonder if rain is coming.
Kevin whines and I look back at him and say, “Sit!” He stands five steps away, waiting. I lift my index finger, the dog treat concealed behind my other fingers, and then point down at him. He sits and I cheer, and then he gallops over and jumps up, paws scratching at my top.
“No.” I push him down. “No, you have to stay sitting.” Kevin sits by my feet, and a gust of wind raises his floppy ears and flaps my dark blue Dogs Are Cool T-shirt. “We’ll have to try again.”
I walk backwards, five steps, smaller this time because I’m right near the edge of the driveway now and Mum told me not to go onto the road. I repeat the pointing action. “Sit!” But Kevin isn’t looking at me any more. His ears have rolled forwards and his head is up, tilting. I hear a car engine behind me, and turn to see a shiny blue Volkswagen round the corner.
“Come on, Kevin,” I say, hooking a finger into his collar and scooting back up the driveway to the front door. I squat beside him, my eyes wide.
Cantering Court, where I live, is small, only nine houses, all single level, and it’s quiet, because it’s a cul-de-sac. I know Phil at number eight next door; Sean and Jo at number six on the other side; Owen and his wife at number five; and Tanson, who is Ned’s age but they’re not friends, and his family at number four. I don’t know the names of the people in numbers one, two or three, but there are old people with two cats, more old people with no pets, and another family who we never see. I also know everyone’s cars.
This blue Volkswagen is not a car I’ve seen before. I like the colour of it.
It stops beside number nine, its wheels scraping against the kerb, and the engine shuts down, a faint ticking coming from the front. I wait, my arm draped over Kevin’s back and my hand hugging underneath his tummy. I’m still holding his blue collar in my other hand, my fingers buried in his soft fur. As I wait, focused on the car, I hear faint shouts and laughter from somewhere to my left, probably the loud family at the back of our house who had an argument with Dad once because they were cutting down trees without letting him know. I hear a siren, maybe a police car in the distance, and I smell food cooking, which I think might be a barbecue. I hear Ned’s rap music drifting from his room at the back of the house, through the hallway, and out the front screen door to my ears.
And then I hear a pop and creak, and someone steps out of the blue Volkswagen. Another door opens, and then another. I see a girl first, as tall as Ned, with white blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and then a woman wearing sunglasses who has the same colour hair, but hers is cut short. The other person is mostly hidden behind the car, but then they move, towards the driveway of number nine.
It’s a smaller person, also with light hair, and wearing a Jessops Lake Primary School uniform. I dip my head, feel Kevin’s fur against my cheek, and then the person turns, peering up and down my small quiet street.
It’s the new kid from school, in grade 6 – a boy, I think – the one who sits on his own. His eyes reach me, and he raises a hand and waves. I know I should wave back, but instead I cling tighter to Kevin and watch the new kid, waiting for him to stop waving and looking at me.
His arm lowers and he turns, heading inside. His sister places a hand on his shoulder as their mum opens and then closes the black front door, shutting them all inside.
The new renters are here.
I wonder if the boy plays OrbsWorld.
I adjust each of my pencils until they’re all perfectly lined up against my ruler and the darkest, deepest scratch in the wooden desktop. They’re like a rainbow, from black all the way to yellow, and it’s beautiful. I don’t have a white pencil. I will have to ask Ned if he has one he can give me after school. I won’t use any of these colours other than black and grey, and maybe blue, because that’s my favourite colour, but I still get them all out of my pencil case at the start of lessons.
Aqua is my favourite blue.
Ryan says I only like blue because Jared likes blue, but I don’t think that’s true because I’ve always liked blue. I wonder if the new kid with white hair likes blue.
A hand comes into my vision and taps my desk. I look up. It’s Angel, who sits next to me. She smiles at me, strands of her jet-black hair strung across her cheeks, and whispers, “Ms Westing has called you for reading group.” I stare at Angel’s teeth and her pink lips, which look slippery because of all the lip balm she puts on, until the words make sense in my head, and then I glance around the room. Ms Westing is smiling and beckoning me to come to the Big B, which is a small area with beanbags and bookshelves at the back of our classroom.
I sigh and lower my chin and stare at my hands, which are squeezing my ruler. I don’t want to do reading group. I want to finish my road map of Jessops Lake, like Jared and all the other kids in my class are doing. Angel taps my desk again, and I move my eyes to the side until I see her map on her desk. It’s the most awesome coolest map out of anyone’s in the whole class, because Angel is the best at art.
“I’ll make sure no one moves your pencils,” she says in a quiet voice.
Angel is nice to me. And she says I do brilliant art too.
I nod, then release my grip on my ruler and move my chair back silently. The other children chatter in quiet voices that make a low hum around the room as they work on their maps. As I weave through their chairs to the Big B, I see Ella’s map, which is covered in red and gold, her favourite colours. Next to her is Jared’s, all in pencil with sketches of balls and rugby players all over it. I don’t think that’s what he’s meant to do, and I want to tell him, but I want more to turn back to my table, to Angel. But Ms Westing says my name.
“Alex, we saved you the blue beanbag. Have a seat.”
I do as she says because I’m a good boy and I always do as I’m told. I love the blue beanbag, and it shifts and moulds into my butt and back as I sit. Ms Westing hands me a piece of paper, folded in half, with a photo of a pizza on the front. I love pizza, but not the crusts, because they’re too hard. I start to open the booklet.
“Oops, don’t open it yet, Alex.”
I glance up at her and she waggles her eyebrows up and down. I don’t know what this means – it’s not on my emoji chart at home.
“Right, we’re all going to do silent reading in our minds first and then we’re going to talk about what we’ve read. If you get stuck on any words, save them and we can talk about them at the end.”
I turn my head to see the other four kids sitting around Ms Westing: Chris, James, Joshua and Matilda. I don’t like sitting next to Matilda because she’s loud. We do reading group together four days of every week – not Fridays – because we’re all bad at reading. But Ms Westing says we mustn’t say that because how good you are at something isn’t important, but how much fun you have doing it is. I don’t know if that’s right, because being good at OrbsWorld is important and running fast is important too because it means our team might make districts. And winning a trophy at PAWS on Saturday is important and to do that I need to have a dog that’s good at things.
“Off you go then, Big Bees, open your booklets.”
She always calls anyone who goes into the Big B “Big Bees”.
I turn the page, finally, and take a look at the words.
Best Pizza Recipe Ever
I read beneath the title. There’s a list of ingredients, and underneath that a method. Once I get to the bottom of the ingredients list, which has salami and pepperoni in it, my eyes don’t see the words any more. I hear the sounds of pencils scribbling on paper behind me and someone coughing and a chair scraping against the floor and Matilda breathing beside me and James scratching his skin. My chest feels a bit funny, and I bite my back teeth together, but I keep staring at the booklet and at the lines of words. The words salami and pepperoni draw my eyes back up the page, but I’m supposed to read everything. I can see the others still reading out of the corner of my eye.
And then they’re not reading any more. They’ve all stopped and are looking at me.
“How are you getting on, Alex?” Ms Westing asks.
I nod and close my booklet. “I’m finished,” I say, and rest the booklet on my bent knees.
