The aftershock

Waddlehead’s news meant that the morning was high pressure, punctuated with mini explosions of steam that escaped from bubbling creative tempers. Mr. Andrews, who is normally Mr. Ice Man, lost it at Mark, who is normally Mr. Placid. Mark then lost it at Elizabeth, who is normally Ms. Nice, who lost it with the music teacher, Ms. Sefton, who is normally Ms. Understanding. Ms. Sefton then lost it at us, the band, who are normally kept out of all that hypertension crap. It was at this time Andrews called for a break and instructed all of us to leave the hall and go for a walk, run, whatever, just so long as everyone lightened up.

I was wondering whether now was the time to make the move. As I made my way to the stage, I caught sight of the back of Elizabeth’s shirt walking at top speed out of the hall. It was pretty obvious that she didn’t need some guy hanging around right at this moment.

I looked down to find the Freak waiting patiently with his lunch box in his hand. He and Brother Pat seemed to be the only two people in the hall who Waddlehead had not gotten to.

Come on, Will! Little lunch.

We’d been going through the same routine every rehearsal.

Listen, Freak, by the time you get to high school you have got to start calling little lunch recess or, at the very least, play lunch. Actually, that’s just as bad. Just call it recess.

Why? What’s the difference, it still means the same thing.

In some way he had a point and maybe if he didn’t care then other people wouldn’t. But unfortunately that’s not how school playgrounds operated. There were so many codes you had to learn to survive your first year in high school. These codes then dictated the pecking order for the next six years or until there was a major growth spurt with a heavy shot of hormones. That was how vital it was to get it right. And persisting in calling recess little lunch showed a major lack of understanding of the code.

I peered into the plastic Ninja Turtles lunch box. As usual it was jam-packed with everything good: a pink icing doughnut, a small packet of chips, cheese and crackers, fruit strips. You had to give his dad credit. He sure knew how to pack a lunch box.

Man, you’ve got enough in here for the whole band.

Zach nodded his head in agreement and with a mouthful of chips offered, Yeah, lots of people sit with me at little lunch.

I bet. Do they come back at lunch?

No, I normally have lunch by myself and go straight to the library. The other guys just want to play footy and I don’t want to. Here, you can have the doughnut.

He put it in my hand, the pink icing clinging to the outer edges of my palm.

No, I can’t have that. It must be your favorite.

It is, but I don’t care if you have it. You’re my friend.

The thing was, this guy was so honest. He just said what was in his head without worrying what anyone else thought. It was a hard way to live but it seemed a bit more real than the usual teenager crap. Maybe a little too real at times.

We were sitting eating the Cohen feast when I saw Mark. He was talking and having a laugh with the other members of the cast. It seemed as though everyone liked him, the bastard. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

Hey, Will!

Mark beckoned me over to join the group. I waved back and pointed to the Freak.

Come over and meet these guys, Mark called back. Bring your mate.

The Freak nearly wet himself with excitement.

Come on, Will! Let’s go. Oh boy! Wait until the other guys see that I know all of the leads. Come on. They’re waiting for us.

Zach …

Too late. The Freak was already doing his doggy leaps over there. I could see Mark extending his hand and Zach shaking it hard. The others did the same. Zach had not shut up the whole time.

Yeah, Will, well, he’s like my best friend in the musical. He’s the best. He says—

Settle down, Freak.

Everybody looked at me as if I’d said something really bad. I suppose if you call a guy who thinks that the sun shines out of your arse Freak, they might have a point. But the little guy loved it; well, at least it looked like he did, and I know he would have no problem telling me if he didn’t.

No, that’s his nickname. You like it, don’t you, Zach?

He nodded and continued talking to the girl who played the second lead. That kid could talk to anybody.

Mark looked at me. Your new best mate, Will?

The little guy needs someone to keep an eye on him. I looked over at the Freak, who was still talking. He’s all right. He’s really innocent. He doesn’t seem to care that he hasn’t got any friends.

Yeah, that type of thing’s hard.

I thought that maybe it had been like that for Mark. He shook his head.

I wasn’t some type of reject, if that’s what you were thinking.

I went to apologize but he was on a roll.

In Years Seven and Eight I rated myself as a pretty cool footy player. The shit hit the fan in Year Nine. That’s when everything went crazy…. I spent half the year dodging fruit, bags, fists. Even dorks rated higher on the scale than faggots.

I flinched when he said faggot; at St. Andrew’s it was one of the lowest put-downs. I was about to ask him about it when I felt someone pulling on my arm, an annoying action that could only belong to the Freak.

Hey, listen, Freak, back off, would you …

I turned around to tell him to shove off and instead found myself face to face with Elizabeth Zefferelli.

Nooooooooooooooo!!!!

I couldn’t move.

Nothing. I had nothing.

The most I could do was stretch my mouth into a really stupid I have the IQ of a baboon expression. I searched frantically for anything to cover up this dithering drongo act, but there was nothing there. She obviously wasn’t having the same problem. Her huge smile was teasing me.

The last time I saw you I wasn’t looking at your face.

I could hear the alarm bells sounding. The red of the fire billowed around my face; smoke escaped from all facial orifices.

So you were an eyewitness …

Uh-huh.

She continued looking straight at me, her smile toying with me playfully. She wasn’t making this easy. In fact she looked like she was loving every second of watching me be uncomfortable. The others were just standing back watching the show.

So, she challenged as she moved closer, do you have a name or should I just keep calling you the backside boy?

At this point Mark laughed out loud. I tried to tell him to shut up but I couldn’t speak. After what seemed like a million minutes, I managed my name.

Will … Will Armstrong.

I was dying; I reached deep down, trying frantically to find some type of witty response.

My backside is not my strongest point.

Loser!

Oh, I don’t know, I thought it was kind of cute.

And with that she turned on her heel and walked away. Now, call me stupid, but I could swear that there had been some major flirtatious action happening there.

Mark gave me the thumbs-up.

I told you she knew your better points. Saucy, huh?

Andrews’s voice summoned me back to the present.

Righto, you lot. Let’s make a start.

I was left alone with the Freak. Everyone wandered back inside. I was still trying to return to normal blood flow. I felt light, like I could take off. It didn’t matter that I had just acted like a complete loser; all that mattered was that I’d met Elizabeth and she thought I had a cute backside. I’d never been so keen to get back into the rehearsal room.