The moon

I sussed the crowd. In the last ten minutes the rowdiness had grown to fever pitch. The fact that the buses were late increased that by a trillion.

On cue I heard the familiar rumble of the Lakeside Girls school bus. It was sitting at the lights about to begin the daily ritual of passing our stop. Just like us, the girls had their own bus law and their own code of behavior. They stared from the buses giggling, giving the finger or rolling their eyes in bored condescension. All three reactions were dependent on status and age, and were as predicable as ours. The main offenders were the Year 9s. This may have had something to do with them having reached puberty and being about ready to self-destruct if they didn’t utter those romantic words, “Oi, you scrag!” or even better, “Get stuffed!”

The restless pack sniffed the air. Girls! The gate tilted under the pressure of the boys trying to get prime position to give the girls some hassle. Everyone was ready to take their part when the hugest, loudest blowout, like the farts of thirty giants, came from the back of the bus. The girls screamed and the boys pissed themselves laughing. This continued until it dawned on everyone that in fact the bus was stuck and, even worse, that they would all have to actually look at one another.

This was a clear breach of bus law, and everyone was a little unsure of how to act. Never one to let the boys down, I felt it was my opportunity—no, in fact my duty—to step in and save the day. I went over to Jock and whispered to him.

No way, Willo!

I smiled, extending my hand. Wanna make a bet?

Casually I moved to the curb. I strategically placed myself so no other member of the public could see—we did have the good name of the college to keep up. I faced the entrance gates, looking directly into the stony frown of the school’s founder. The back half of my body was in full view of the stationary bus. Slowly, surreptitiously, I unbuckled my belt and grabbed the top of my school pants and boxers. I threw my head around ninety degrees on each side looking for the enemy, winked at the statue and dropped my pants. The first moon in full public view and in front of girls in St. Andrew’s history. Or so I was told afterward.

It was over in a flash, pardon the pun. The impact of such a deed is such that too long means too much. As I rebuckled my pants, I looked up to see Tim nearly wetting his and Jock shaking his head shouting, Good on you, mate, as he reached into his pocket ready to square the bet. Admiration exuded from their every pore. There was noisy cheering from all the St. Andrew’s boys. However, that was nothing in comparison to the Lakeside girls.

The bus looked like it had been invaded. Nearly the entire occupants had rushed to the St. Andrew’s side. Those who weren’t hanging out the windows screaming were bashing up against the glass. By this time the boys had bolted through the gate, others were climbing the fence yelling and bashing back. The bus driver could no longer be seen. He was surrounded by twenty teenage girls demanding their release.

Those girls who couldn’t make it to the windows or doors were in the aisles, giggling, waving and then falling all over themselves when a St. Andrew’s boy gave them a response. It was only along the back couple of seats that there was no movement. The domain of seniors. Some stuck their fingers up; those who were bothered called out Loser! and the rest ignored me completely. I wasn’t worried. I was basking in the afterglow of the moon and loving every minute of it. I bowed to my fans on both sides. No doubt I did look like a major loser, but it’s not every day you find yourself at the center of such adoration, even if it was more about hyper hormone levels rather than me.

As I looked up, I made direct eye contact with a girl sitting three-quarters of the way down the bus. I continued grinning, thinking the moon might be helpful in furthering Will Armstrong and Lakeside Girls relationships. A death stare that would have sliced concrete slammed that idea. And just in case I didn’t get it, she rolled her eyes and flicked her head away so hard she nearly collected the girl next to her with her ponytail and green ribbon as she made her way to the front. What was her problem!

She must have been some sort of prefect or house assistant or something—that type of thing was big at Lakeside—because she was trying to get everyone to shut up and get back in their seats. And it wasn’t working. Sucked in, serves her right for being such a brownnose and for having zero sense of humor.

It was right about then that another girl who actually was having a laugh started pointing, serious over-the-top pointing, at the school entrance. I just kept grinning and waving back. On the third attempt she gave up and stuck her head out the window.

The bus driver, you idiot! He’s on the phone….

It took me three seconds to get past the idiot comment and actually figure out what she was saying. Bus driver on phone. Bus driver not on the phone to his mates. Bus driver on the phone to dob in some loser senior who thought it would be a laugh to drop his pants at the Lakeside Girls school bus.

Instinctively I turned to face the principal’s office and at that exact moment Waddlehead and Mr. Danielli, the Year 11 coordinator, left the staffroom and began heading directly toward us.

Willo, run! Willo! Get out of here!

It was Tim, thirty seconds behind as usual. But there was no point in running. It was too late and, besides, it wasn’t my style.

The bus stilled instantly. The girl had obviously given the word. An occasional giggle escaped, silenced by a loud Shhh. The St. Andrew’s mob needed no such warning. Each boy was programmed to recognize Waddlehead’s walk from twenty meters away. Each boy also knew what it meant.

It became deadly quiet. The boys parted, creating a guard of honor delivering me to my fate. No way around it.

Busted. Busted bad.

Walk with me immediately, Mr. Armstrong.