The music room

I can’t believe this morning was for real, Will. I mean, it was pretty funny but you looked like you were dead serious. You’ve been all over the place lately. Are you sure there’s nothing else going on? You didn’t even go on like this when your dad …

Chris stopped himself. But we both knew what he had been going to say. It jolted my gut like a mini explosion. We hadn’t talked about Dad since the day it happened. That was the way I played it and Chris respected that. In the beginning he asked if I was OK but he stopped eventually. They nearly always do if you say you’re fine often enough.

Will? Will, mate, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even spoken about it.

I could feel myself walking out the door, escaping into the quad and wiping it from my memory. But I knew if I did Chris would feel even worse.

I spoke as normally as I could but my mouth had lost all its spit.

Things are really weird at the moment. I can’t explain it. I just want stuff to get back to normal.

Chris was looking at me. We both knew that the kind of normal I was talking about was never going to happen.

The bell rang for the end of homeroom. I walked out before Chris could ask me if I was all right again.

I was seriously thinking about checking out for the rest of the day, but I knew Danielli would be onto me in a millisecond. I was antsy, though, ready for something. It was when I was walking up to the quad from the music room that it came to me. For the past three years Jock and Tim and me had had the plan of Glad wrapping the teachers’ toilets. Jock still had the Glad wrap in his locker. But each year we came up with a different reason why we couldn’t: Year 8 we didn’t have the balls, Year 9 we thought it was too disgusting, Year 10 too juvenile, and by Year 11 we just thought it was really, really funny.

We spent recess scheming. Jock was always good at making sure we’d covered all areas so as not to get busted. It was risky, especially for me, but I’d been Mr. Brownnosed Musical Boy for way too long.

Maths was just before lunch and since we were all in different classes, it worked perfectly. Ten minutes before the end of the lesson, we met outside the canteen. Tim was the lookout. The toilets were outside the main building and were easy access, as long as no one was watching from any of the windows, but the risk only quadrupled the fun. After a minute’s debate, we decided just to get the male toilets. There was the potential for way too much explanation if we were busted in the ladies’.

The job was done in minutes, or so we thought, but then the Glad wrap wouldn’t stick because the bowl was wet. I didn’t have time to think how gross it was as I got a paper towel and wiped the whole toilet seat and bowl down. Once it was completely dry it clung on beautifully. Jock kept flicking it to make sure it wasn’t going to come off. I told him he’d have to wipe down the next toilet bowl if he stuffed it up so he stopped. Jock shoved the Glad wrap down his pants and kept it as a souvenir. I went to our own toilets and scrubbed my fingers, hands and arms, wishing I had some of Nana’s disinfectant, then went back to maths and waited five minutes for the bell.

There was nothing unusual in us bolting over to the canteen at the beginning of lunch, but this time we weren’t thinking about food. The three of us stood in different positions and watched the traffic outside the toilets. Nothing happened, but then two of the PE teachers came bolting out of the toilets—one was cracking up, the other one not so impressed. They went back to the gym and the other teachers came out and went in to have a look. Ten minutes into lunch I reckon at least half the staff were at the toilets. It was only when Waddlehead came over that everyone, including the staff, bolted. No one had a clue who did it. I hadn’t laughed so loud and so hard forever. Perfect! Things were getting back to normal—including me.