Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain (12 page)

30

jesse

I finish my vegemite sandwich, toss the wrapping paper into the bin and trudge to Arnold. Sarah is waiting in our room, sitting at her desk and writing in a notebook. I knock. She beckons me inside.

I sit on my chair and sigh.

Sarah attempts a smile. ‘Two detentions in a term. Not a good start, Jesse.'

Detention. For getting soaked to the skin trying to save my worst enemy. According to Larry it's ‘for putting yourself in danger'. It's Larry who's putting me in danger, leaving me in detention with Hunter!

As if on cue, Hunter walks into the room without knocking. He shuffles to his chair near the window, flops down and stares outside toward freedom.

Sarah checks her watch. ‘Hunter, good of you to join us.'

Hunter doesn't answer.

Sarah closes her notebook and stands. ‘I trust I can leave you two together while I go to Doris.'

I raise my hand.

‘Yes, Jesse?'

‘May I get a book?'

Sarah points to the bookcase along the side wall. She looks meaningfully at Hunter. ‘Please don't make me have to return early.' She closes the door and walks along the verandah.

I glance toward Hunter. He's still staring out the window. I get up from my chair and walk to the bookcase
. I don't really want to read, but if I have my head buried in a book maybe Hunter will ignore me. As if a book can save me. Standing close to the bookshelf, I close my eyes and reach out. Wherever my hand lands, I'll read that book. I open my eyes. A novel titled
Stormchaser
. Without thinking, I laugh, remembering why Hunter and I are on detention. The perfect book!

‘What's so funny, Badboy?' says Hunter.

‘Nothing,' I say. I should have remembered where I was. I take the book back to my chair and open it, pretending to read. Hunter gets up and walks toward the front of the room. I slink down further in my chair. He casually picks up a marker and stands in front of the whiteboard. He starts writing, in a clear large text:

STEALING

TRIPPING KENDRICK NORRIS

THREATENING TO PUNCH HARRY WILSON-HOLMES

Hunter steps back from the whiteboard, considering what he's written.

‘What … What are you doing?' I ask.

‘What does it look like?' Hunter turns to face me, looking at the book in my hands. ‘It's better than reading,' he says.

‘I mean, what are you writing?'

‘Words,' he says.

We both smile. I can't help myself. ‘Very funny,' I decide to risk it, ‘Jokeboy!'

Hunter laughs, pointing his finger at me, as if he were firing a gun. I duck, dropping my book on the floor. Hunter walks toward me and leans down to pick up the book. He carries it back to the shelf. He adopts the voice of a teacher, ‘Now Jesse, the book will remain here until you learn how to treat school property properly!'

He repeats, ‘Property properly!'

Hunter walks back to the whiteboard and points at the word,
STEALING
.

‘One week's detention for stealing Harley Rae's iPod. No-one believed I found it over by the wattle trees where stupid Harley dropped it.'

Hunter points at the next sentence. ‘Kendrick just fell over my foot. It's not my fault he's clumsy.'

He writes the word,
SMOKING
on the board. ‘Oh yeah, it wasn't me that got caught for that was it Mr Jones?' He draws a line through the word.

He points to the last sentence. ‘Threatening.' He scoffs. ‘Not actually hitting anyone, just threatening. Pretending. Ha! Detention for doing nothing. I'd have been better off actually hitting hyphen-Harry.' Hunter flops down in Sarah's chair and puts his feet up on her desk. I look toward the door, expecting Sarah to walk in at any moment.

‘Come on,' says Hunter. ‘Relax.'

I check my watch. We have another twenty minutes of detention.

‘Why were you threatening Harry?' I ask.

Hunter shrugs. ‘Some people just ask to be annoyed.'

‘And some people are just annoying,' I counter.

Hunter looks up. ‘You're pretty smart …' He's trying to think of a new name.

I suggest, ‘Brainboy?'

Hunter looks back at the whiteboard, without answering. He gets up and writes, in large letters:

CALLING PEOPLE NAMES

He laughs to himself, then adds two exclamation marks in bold type.

Satisfied, he sits down again at Sarah's desk.

‘It's called bullying,' I say.

‘Ha!'

‘Haboy!' I respond.

‘You see,' says Hunter, ‘that doesn't hurt me!'

‘But … But for some kids, it does,' I say.

Hunter rolls his eyes, as if he's heard it all before. Which he probably has.

‘What do your parents say,' my voice is a little shaky, ‘when you get in trouble?'

Hunter stares at his shoes on Sarah's table. He doesn't answer.

‘If Mum and Dad found out I got detention, they'd—'

‘That's your parents, not mine,' says Hunter.

‘Sorry,' I say. ‘I guess they've got other things—'

‘Don't talk about my parents!' Hunter smacks the desk hard with his hand.

I shake my head, too scared to speak.

Hunter pushes back Sarah's chair and stares out the window. I notice his hands are shaking. All of a sudden, he doesn't look so tough, just sad.

We sit in silence.

I lean back on my chair and clumsily put my feet on the desk.

Hunter looks at me and almost smiles.

I whistle, trying to appear more relaxed than I feel. I tilt back my chair until it's balancing on two legs.

‘My dad lives in New Zealand,' Hunter says.

I stop whistling.

‘Do you visit?' I ask, nervously.

‘He hasn't asked me.' Hunter shakes his head. ‘He's never coming back.'

I picture waiting in my bedroom every afternoon for Dad to arrive home and give me a hug. How I'd feel if that suddenly stopped. I imagine Mum and Beth and me at dinner, all of us eating in silence, remembering Dad's bad jokes. How quiet it'd be around home, as if all the life was sucked out the front door one morning, never to return.

‘Jesse, tell me what's bad?' Hunter asks.

‘Pardon?' I don't understand.

Hunter gets out of the chair and picks up Sarah's ruler. He points it toward the whiteboard and calls out, in a teacher's voice, ‘Stealing, bad'. He taps the whiteboard with the ruler. ‘Tripping people, very bad.' He waves the ruler over the next word. ‘Smoking! Very, very bad.' He points down the list. ‘Calling people names!' He turns to look at me. ‘A week's detention and a note home to your parents, Hunter Riley.'

He taps the ruler against his leg. ‘You are a misguided boy, Hunter. You are disruptive in class and rude and—'

Suddenly he throws the ruler, with every ounce of his strength, toward the window. It sails through the air, making a weird whirring sound before clattering against the pane and landing on the floor. Hunter is flushed with anger. ‘Tell me what's worse.' He points at the board. ‘All of these things,' he takes a deep breath and flops down on Sarah's chair, his fists clenched on the desk, ‘or a father who runs away.'

We sit in silence for a few moments.

‘Maybe my dad should be on detention, not me,' Hunter says, bitterly.

Suddenly, all his actions make sense.

I understand. But, there's no way I can tell him that. So, I do the next best thing.

I say, ‘Your dad's a …' I swear, a rude word I never say. I'm shaking, not sure how Hunter will react.

Hunter looks surprised, even a little shocked.

I blush and say it again.

He stands up and walks to the whiteboard. In big letters, he writes another word:

SWEARING!

Hunter smiles.

‘Your dad's a …' I repeat the rude word.

‘My dad's a …' swears Hunter.

We look at one another and together, start laughing.

‘Rudeboy!' I say.

‘Ha!' Hunter laughs.

Sarah opens the door and walks into the room. She glances at the whiteboard and frowns. ‘What's this?'

I answer quickly, ‘Sorry, Sarah. I … I was getting Hunter to list the things he's done lately and …'

‘And Jesse was telling me how to improve,' adds Hunter.

Sarah looks from Hunter to me and back again, not sure if we're serious. She eventually smiles and walks to the whiteboard, erasing each of the words slowly. Hunter looks back at me and flashes a grin.

When Sarah has finished, she turns and says, ‘Wiped clean, Hunter. Let's forget all about the past shall we?'

‘No worries, Sarah,' says Hunter, before heading toward the door.

Sarah looks at me. ‘Thank you, Jesse.'

31

HUNTER

After school, Hunter walks to Elkhorn Park and sits on the bench seat, waiting for the woman and her personal trainer to arrive. He wonders if Les will pass by on his way home from the shops. He hopes so.

A tiny grasshopper lands on the seat. Hunter cups his hands around the insect. He gently carries it to the nearest shrub, giggling as the grasshopper jumps around his hands, tickling his skin. He places his hands amongst the leaves and opens them slowly. The grasshopper hops to the nearest branch. Hunter watches it for a few minutes before returning to the bench seat.

This morning before school, Hunter had shut himself in his bedroom and typed ‘Dating Hearts' into Google. Thousands of listings came up. He typed, with shaking hands, ‘Man forty years'. He added the local area into the advanced search listings. A screen popped up with all the available candidates. If only he could remember the man from the cafe, who thought Mum was someone called Diane. Perhaps they could meet again.

ScubaBen was forty-eight years old, one hundred and eighty-five centimetres tall and his byline read, ‘Willing to open jars and assemble IKEA furniture. No babysitting required.' What did that mean? In the photo, his eyebrows were too close together. Hunter clicked forward.

Marty42 looked younger and had wavy red hair. ‘Easy-going happy-go-lucky every-day single-guy.' Too many hyphens! Hunter shook his head. This could be harder than he first thought.

Paddy2 was thirty-eight years old, wore a suit and tie and was balding. ‘Fun-loving, extrovert, independently wealthy.' Hunter clicked on the profile. ‘I love sailing, football and long walks.' Mum likes to walk and I like football, thought Hunter. ‘Seeks genuine woman under the age of 30.' Hunter shrugged. Mum looked younger than she was. ‘Definitely, no kids!' Hunter sighed and said, ‘Goodbye Paddy2
.
'

He stared out the window. Mrs Betts was watering her roses along the front fence. Occasionally, she'd
lean down and pull up a weed. When she did, she'd keep
the hose spraying, without looking where it was pointing. While Hunter was watching, she'd sprayed the driveway, just missed the postman and unwittingly soaked Mrs Ainsworth's dog.

Jeff50 smiled at the camera and emphasised that age was not important. ‘Friendly, educated traveller along life's highway seeks humanist fun-seeker with kind mien.' Hunter frowned, what's a mien?

Barry48 wanted three things in a relationship. ‘Eyes that won't cry, lips that won't lie and love that won't die.' Oh yeah, and, ‘NO KIDS!'

Hunter clicked forward and came face-to-computer-profile with Donald45, otherwise known as the man in the cafe. He couldn't believe he'd found him so quickly. It was meant to be, thought Hunter. Donald liked ‘movies, food and holidays'. Tick, tick, tick, thought Hunter. He scanned the profile. ‘Genuine, optimistic, loyal. Seeks the same.' Hunter copied the web address to an email and sent it to his mum. Donald was just one click away, if Mum wished. She's better than any Diane, thought Hunter. Donald smiled from his profile, waiting patiently.

Hunter sees the exercise woman walking along the path beside the creek with her personal trainer. The
woman is wearing a dress and high-heeled shoes.
The trainer is wearing an open-necked shirt and jeans. They are holding hands and walking very slowly. Neither of them is sweating. The woman says something to the personal trainer and he laughs. He leans across and kisses her on the cheek.

‘Young love,' says a voice behind Hunter. Les is sitting on his scooter, a bag of groceries in the basket.

‘Okay for some,' says Hunter.

Les reaches into his pocket and takes out a stick of chewing gum, unwraps it and pops it into his mouth. He offers the packet to Hunter. Hunter shakes his head.

‘I chew on ten of these a day now, instead of,' he sighs, ‘instead of the quiet enjoyment of my pipe.' He scrunches the wrapping paper up in his hand and tosses it into his basket, alongside the groceries.

Hunter smiles, despite himself.

Les moves the scooter closer to the bench seat. They both watch the woman and the trainer walk by, holding hands, peering off into the lover's distance.

‘You're quiet today, son,' says Les.

Hunter is surprised by Les's words. He wished his dad had called him son instead of Hunts. He doesn't want to think of his father now. He looks at the old man's hands, brown and aged with sunspots. He thinks about Jesse and swearing in class. Jesse trying to drag him from the thunderstorm, trying to be his friend.

‘Do you miss your wife, Les?' he asks.

‘Only when I'm awake,' Les says, his hands reaching into his pocket in reflex, searching for the pipe that isn't there anymore. The old man clears his throat. ‘Fifty-two years we were together.' He sighs.

‘Do you visit … Do you go to where she's …' Hunter doesn't want to say the word.

‘We made a deal, before she passed,' says Les. ‘She didn't want to be underground.' Les takes the chewing gum from his mouth and rolls it in a tight ball, putting it into the plastic grocery bag. He licks his lips as if trying to remove the taste of the gum. ‘We decided on cremation,' he says. ‘I kept her ashes with me, in an urn on the kitchen bench for months. We'd talk every night.' Les looks at Hunter and smiles. ‘I did most of the talking, you understand. We'd agreed beforehand on where I was to place her ashes, but I needed time. Finally, I scattered them at the foot of the pear tree in our backyard. Our daughter is under strict instructions to place mine there when I cark it. So we'll be together.' The old man leans back on his scooter, as though the words he's spoken have exhausted him. He closes his eyes to the sun.

Hunter studies the old man's face: the lines and wrinkles, the grey stubble, the upturned mouth as though he's spent a lifetime smiling.

‘My daughter says I should get married again,' Les scoffs. ‘She means well, of course. But my wife was … It's better to keep her memory close than to try to replace it.'

The woman and the trainer walk toward Hunter and the old man. In the hands of the trainer is an iPhone. He holds it out. ‘Would you mind taking a photo of us?' he says to Les.

Les laughs and takes the phone, handing it on to Hunter. ‘My boy here, he'll do a better job.'

Hunter takes the phone and stands. He looks at the screen and sees the couple, each with an arm around the waist of the other, smiling. He pushes the button.

When he hands the phone back to the trainer, the woman eagerly looks at the screen to see the result. She smiles at Hunter and says, ‘Thank you.' They walk off, holding hands.