Dreamrider (18 page)

‘Of course, Mr Atkins. Please come in.'

‘Is your father at home?'

‘He's at work. But my step-mum should be back in a moment. She's just popped out to the shops.'

Mary had run out of cotton.

‘Ah.' Mr Atkins seemed mildly surprised. ‘I didn't know you had a step-mum, Michael. We'll have to update our records. Very slack.'

‘Dad filled out my enrolment form. He must have forgotten to mention Mary.'

Mr Atkins blinked.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Atkins. Did you want to talk to her?'

‘No. It was you I wanted to talk to. But I thought that maybe a parent or guardian should be present. You know.'

‘Well, she'll be back soon. In fact, she should have been here a while ago. Come in and wait, Mr Atkins. I'll make you a cup of coffee.'

He seemed reluctant. I stood back from the door and waited. Finally he came in.

‘Well, if you're sure she'll be back soon.'

It was strange. Mr Atkins was nervous and I was calm. He followed me into the kitchen and sat at the table. He put his briefcase on the floor.

I put the kettle on and spooned instant coffee into mugs.

‘Milk? Sugar?' I asked.

‘Black with sugar. Thanks.'

‘How many lumps?'

‘Two, please.'

When I'd fixed the drinks, I sat opposite and we sipped from scalding mugs.

‘Did you come to talk about my suspension, Mr Atkins?' I said. I was curious.

He put his mug down and glanced around. I was glad I'd tidied up. It wasn't anything like his home, but it wasn't too bad. It was strange. I knew what his place looked like and he didn't even know I'd been there. It gave me a feeling of power.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Yes, about the incident yesterday. The fight between you and Jamie Archer.'

He was becoming more nervous. He kept glancing at the kitchen door as if willing Mary to enter. A coin appeared in his right hand and wheeled across his knuckles. I got the impression he didn't even realise he was doing it.

‘I feel . . . well, responsible is the word, I suppose.'

‘You shouldn't, Sir. I did it.'

‘Yes, but it's not quite that simple. If I understand correctly, the fight came about because of remarks made about me.'

He glanced at me but I didn't say anything.

‘You were . . . defending my honour, I suppose. And that makes me a part of the matter. I cannot justify your actions, Michael. Violence doesn't solve anything, as I'm sure you know only too well. But, misguided though your response was, I wanted you to know I am grateful for the sentiments behind it.'

‘No problem, Sir.'

‘No.' Mr Atkins put his hands flat on the table. There was no sign of the coin. ‘There is a problem. I want you to listen carefully, Michael. What you did was wrong. Homophobia is a fact of life in high school. It comes with the territory. Year 9 and 10 boys, in particular, seem obsessed with it. Personally, I believe it's a rite of passage.' He was warming to his theme and the coin appeared again, spinning across his fingers. ‘Statistically, I understand a significant number of the boys I teach will come to realise in later life that they are homosexual. I also know the path to that realisation will be a painful, even tortured one. I cannot blame them for their attitudes now. They are children. It's unreasonable to expect them to behave as if they weren't. Do you understand me?'

‘Yes, Sir.'

‘I'm not suggesting homophobia in schools should be ignored. Don't get me wrong. You were right to speak up. But you were wrong to use violence as a way of enforcing your views. It's counter-productive. It legitimises prejudice. If you find yourself in that situation again, I want you to walk away. Promise me, Michael.'

I thought about it. I wasn't sure I agreed with him. Maybe Dad was partly right. If you wanted to make the world a better place, then sometimes you had to meet violence with violence. Sometimes it was the only way to bring about change.

‘What if words aren't enough, Sir?'

‘They
have
to be enough, Michael.' He was really serious. There was no laughter in his eyes. ‘Because if they aren't enough, we might as well forget it all. Forget justice, morality and any sense of human decency. We cannot go down that path, Michael. It leads only to destruction.'

I thought about wars. How sometimes, faced with evil, there is no choice but to fight back. Wasn't that what the Second World War was all about? My memory of the lessons on it was hazy. But wouldn't evil have won if no one had fought to stop it? Mr Atkins would probably have an argument, but I didn't want to discuss it. He'd asked me to promise. It was important to him and would make him happy. It was easy to do. After all, it was only words.

‘I promise, Mr Atkins,' I said.

‘Good boy, good boy.' The coin vanished and Mr Atkins sprang to his feet. ‘I have to go,' he said. ‘Your step-mum hasn't returned and the lunch break at Millways is rapidly diminishing.' He smiled. ‘Thank you, Michael.'

‘No worries, Sir.'

I showed him to the door and he hurried down the path. I watched his back. He seemed vulnerable. But I would look after him. That made me feel better.

‘Mr Atkins?' I shouted.

He turned.

‘Give my best wishes to your wife,' I said.

His expression was puzzled. I couldn't blame him. He had no way of knowing I even knew she existed. As I closed the door, he was still staring at me.

Mary returned a minute later.

2
.

We finished the costume and it was impressive. And totally shapeless. Long strips of material trailed on the floor. The hood was like a sack. I had to keep pushing it back off my face. If Mary had been skilled on the sewing machine, it wouldn't have been so effective. I didn't tell her that, though. She was pleased. She tried to be all gruff and critical when I tried it on. She pulled at stray hems, pushed the material around. But I wasn't fooled. I could see pride in her eyes.

Mary insisted I try some make-up as well. She didn't have much in the way of cosmetics, so I went out to the front of the house and scraped up dirt from the garden. It was then I saw him. The boy. He was about a hundred metres down the road, talking into a mobile phone. I couldn't see his face. He was in the shade of a mango tree and he had a baseball cap pulled low. He might not even have been watching my house. I knew, though. Something about the way he stood.

The dirt was effective, but it felt uncomfortable. I smeared it on with water and when it dried it flaked off. I found a texta and blacked out a couple of my teeth. That looked sinister, but tasted foul. We decided it wouldn't matter. The costume was so baggy no one would see much of my face anyway. I showered and then made something to eat. There were still several hours to kill.

Leah rang and we arranged for her to come to my house so we could go to the Social together. Then I went to my bedroom. Even though I had slept late I felt tired. Anyway, I didn't have anything to do. The house was tidy enough. I read my book for a while and then peered out the window. The boy was still there. He'd moved to another tree, but he was still there. I wondered how many hours he would keep watch. Then I drew the curtains and lay down on the bed. I stared at the ceiling and thought I wouldn't drift off. My eyes closed.

Mummy checks my seatbelt again. She tugs on it and the frayed strap breaks off in her hand. I play with a small truck in my lap. It is red, and there's a patch on the roof where the paint has been chipped off. If I pick at it, I can make more paint flake. The doors on it open and everything.

We drive. Mummy talks, but I'm not listening to what she's saying. I keep opening the truck's doors. Close. Open. It's sunny. As we turn corners, the sun shines off the loose seatbelt buckle in my lap. Dazzles me.

Then the sun is somewhere else. It goes flash, flash, flash. I feel sudden pain. Mummy's arm against my chest. She's hurting me. Pushing me back into the seat. I turn my head and her face is fixed straight ahead. There is something awful in her eyes but I have no time to read it. Her mouth is turned down and I can see muscles bunching in her bare leg. Her right leg is straight out in front of her. She is wearing shorts. They're blue and have a pattern around the edges. I turn my head. There is a loud noise. Her arm keeps pressing me back.

The world turns, and keeps on turning. When it stops, there is pain in my leg and a nasty smell. I get to my feet. I'm crying for Mummy, but she's not there. There is grass all around, and my leg is scraped. Blood oozes down it. The toy truck is still in my hand. The car is against a tree. It's bent and twisted and makes a ticking sound. I go closer. One door is open. My door. My leg hurts and I can hear someone screaming from a long way away. I think it might be me. I look through the windscreen. Mummy is there, but she's twisted as well. Her eyes are closed and there is a thin trickle of red leaking out of the corner of her mouth. I call to her.

Then colours flood. I feel the sound. A searing whumpf. I'm picked up by the sound. It makes me fly. Everything goes dark.

Leah came to the house at five o'clock. Mary had insisted I be ready on time. I'd sat in the cloak for nearly an hour, sweating. I couldn't get grumpy, though. She was too happy for that.

Leah was going as a ghost. She had a huge white sheet with a couple of holes cut out for eyes. It was simple, but I could tell Mary was pleased. My costume was really cool in comparison.

We decided against travelling to the Social in our costumes, particularly since we'd be getting the bus. So we stowed them in my backpack. Mary was disappointed. She had been looking forward to waving us off, all kitted up. We overruled her.

We left the house. I watched out for the boy. He might have been there, somewhere, but I didn't see him.

3
.

The day closed as it always does in the tropics. It slammed shut.

Leah and I approached the school. It was different, somehow. Cloaked in darkness, most windows blank and unseeing. A place of shadows. Here and there, security lights cast a pale, weak glow. A few hundred metres away, we took the costumes from my backpack and put them on.

The hall was an oasis of light. Coloured bulbs were strung along the front. Light leaked from shuttered windows. We heard voices from a long way off. A buzz of excitement and other emotions mingled in a thin whine. The thump of bass swirled in with the surrounding noise, and lost its form, like milk in coffee.

Cars entered and exited the car park as students were dropped off. A small knot gathered outside the hall. A bat, startled by our approach, was a smudge of darkness against the sky. It flew into the night with a rasp of leather wings. The lights drew us. My cloak trailed behind me. I had the hood up and it framed the hall. Leah held my hand.

There was a long trestle table at the entrance. Senior students were behind it, selling drinks and potato chips. A sign announced a sausage sizzle, starting at seven-thirty. A girl in a devil outfit was tending a barbecue, scraping metal over the surface. The smell of onions tickled my nose and my stomach turned with nervous hunger.

I handed our tickets to a teacher I didn't know. She seemed irritable, as if this were an annoying duty. As Leah and I went inside, she glanced at her watch.

Noise washed over us. The bass was like the thump of the building's heartbeat. A young guy was bent over a machine with dials and knobs. Two huge speakers squatted on each side of the stage. The front of the machine was a panel of coloured lights, blinking in time to the music. A handful of students were washed in a sequence of changing colours.

The stage was fringed with a long banner.
Welcome to
Millways High Year 10 Social
. The edges of the fabric had been trimmed with various designs. Bats. Witch's hats. Two glowing, life-sized skeletons were suspended over the speakers. A cigarette was clamped between the teeth of one.

The main area of the hall had been divided into sections. Nearest to us was a cave made from black resin. A glow of candles lit it from the inside. A couple of shapes moved within the textured darkness. Another area featured a graveyard, with headstones. Students were using them as seats. A few coffins, lids open, were interspersed among the graves. Another section was designed as an Egyptian tomb. The painted backdrops rippled slightly in the airconditioning, giving the illustrated stonework a strange, unearthly effect. Gold hieroglyphics flashed reflected light.

The area in front of the stage had been kept clear for dancing. A few girls danced in a circle, shutting out everyone else. The rest of the space was a maze of dark recesses. The ceiling was studded with black balloons.

Leah and I stood for a few moments, absorbing the atmosphere. I hadn't expected something on this scale. Students flowed through the doors in a steady stream. Nearly all were in costume. Vampires, mummies, monsters of all kinds. They shrieked with pleasure as they recognised each other. They hugged and laughed. Excitement filled the air like a drug. Leah and I wandered over to the far wall, which was lined with benches. A few students sat, chatting. We found a quiet space. I pulled my hood down.

‘I can't see them,' said Leah.

‘Who?'

‘Martin Leechy or Jamie Archer.'

‘I don't think Jamie will be making it,' I said.

‘Why not?'

‘Just a feeling.'

Leah went outside to get drinks. I watched the gathering crowd. I didn't even see Mr Atkins approaching. He sat next to me before I was aware of it.

‘Well, Michael,' he said. ‘You look . . . how can I put it? Positively evil. That's a brilliant costume, my boy. Simple, yet evocative.'

‘Thanks, Sir.'

‘And what do you think of the hall, eh? Something of a transformation, wouldn't you say?'

‘It's cool, Sir.'

Mr Atkins sat back on the bench and sighed, as if it were all his own work.